The Paranoid Seal
by SeverusLuciusAbraxasMalfoy
Summary: There's a new seal in town, and Hermione WILL find out everything about it.
1. Chapter 1

"Achoo!"

"Gesundheit"

"I dhink dai dhab ah coldh."

"That is obvious."

Ron ducks to avoid a flying pillow. Unfortunately for Hermione, the pillow raises dust, and that made her sneeze even more.

"Achoo! Achoo! Achoo!"

Ron winces at the wet slobbering sounds that the puffy-eyed, more-frizzy-than-usual, nasal toned woman he calls a wife, makes.

"Idh's nodhad badh izzidh?"

Ron thinks there is no safe way to answer that one, and opens his mouth, "Well…" only to be cut off mid-sentence by the WHOOSH of the Floo in the living room.

"Saved by the Floo from the Flu," he thinks to himself before excusing himself to see who it is.

"Oi! I brought the potion!" Harry yells into Ron's face, scrubbing his glasses.

"Oh! Hello mate," he grins at the dazed Ron when he puts his glasses back on, "Sorry didn't see you there."

"Right mate, you sure you got the right one?"

"'Course Ron! I'm not blind you know," Harry replies a bit affronted, before brushing past Ron, scattering soot on the rug.

"So you think," Ron mumbles before scorgify-ing the soot and Harry's robes as he followed him to the room.

"Hullo 'Mione….EGAD!"

Hermione rolls her eyes, "D'hullo Dharry."

"I'm sure Dharry says Dhullo back." A balled up tissue hits Harry on the nose, "Ewww 'Mione! Germs!" he yells and flails about as if fighting off miniscule germs.

A loud "Smack!" comes from Ron, who's not left the doorway, and Hermione looks up to see him slapping his forehead with a palm.

"Harry, just give her the potion, alright?"

Hermione catches the vial thrown toward her by a still flailing Harry, and reads the label carefully.

"Duh Padahnodh seal?"

It takes a minute for Ron to understand, and he throws the nearest pillow at Harry, who loses balance, trips on his robes and falls with a "Thunk" to the ground.

"Oh," he says when he's prone on the floor, "that's the new seal coming with potions, not by the ministry, but some corporation who claims to mark superior quality potions and charms."

Ron can see the wheels turn in Hermione's mucus clogged, err, mucus clog affected brain.

"How is it I don't know about it?"

Hermione and Ron seem equally surprised at the high-speed recovery. "Oh!" they both say, and look toward a smug-looking Harry, still prone on the floor.

"Told you," Harry sing-songs, "Worked a miracle on Drake when he caught that cold from working with the dragons. Poor Charlie too! Well, they both caught it at the same time."

Ron and Hermione exchange looks, and Ron shakes his head minutely. Well everyone but Harry knew how exactly Draco and Charlie ended up with a cold at the same time. Hermione shrugs and works toward banishing the little hills of balled tissues strewn around the bed.

"What?" Harry looks between them.

"Nothing mate, err, still surprised at the speed, yeah?"

"Super fast, although they increased the price of the potion after the seal came with it." Harry nods to himself.

"Did it now?" Hermione looks up from straightening the bed sheets, "that sounds like a marketing ploy. Who owns the Paranoid Seal anyway?"

Harry casts a scorgify on the sheets and proceeds to collapse into an unceremonious heap on the freshly made bed.

Hermione glares, but supposes she owes him that much after bringing that fantastic potion.

"Well no side-effects so far, and I feel great, a bit of a headache though."

"That'll go away in a bit. Headaches are a pain to get rid of that easy."

"Right, Ron would you mind putting on some tea?" Hermione says as she opens the curtains.

"Finally, this place looked like a dungeon or an underground cave or something," Ron mutters and turns to leave the room.

"Or something," Hermione says, and turns to Harry, who's conjured a mirror to poke at his spiky hair.

Draco finally figured out that messy but gelled hair was more appealing than an unruly mop. But Harry looks so much more, err, gay?

Harry looks up at Hermione and notices for the first time that she' wearing pink pyjamas.

Pink-Bunny-Pyjamas.

Hermione huffs in indignation at the snickering and snorting heap of Harry.

"'Mione, you look like * Snort * A big * Snicker * Fluffy brown bunny! HAHAHAHAHA!"

"Well, you look like a giggling porcupine."

"HAHAHAH! Huh?"

Hermione leaves the room, and is halfway across the hall when the last horse crosses the line.

"Hey! This is a fashionable haircut!" She hears from the bedroom, and promptly rolls her eyes.

"Tea's ready!" Ron yells from the kitchen, and she finds him hovering her favourite Betty over three cups. She can smell ginger, and is immensely thankful for Ron's sense to add some calming element to the tea.

"Mmmm," she smacks her lips, taking a sip from the tea cup, "Thanks Ron, you're a darling."

He just gives her a rakish lopsided smile, the one she adores so much, and their eyes are still locked when Harry makes his way into the kitchen.

"IS that MY EYELINER?" Hermione shrieks, and almost drops her tea.

"Oh no! Well, yeah," he amends quickly at the glares, "I just borrowed some, 'Mione. Drake says they enhance the green-ness of my eyes."

This time Ron and Hermione both roll their eyes.

"What??" Harry asks, looking between them.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Many thanks to French-Lo for helping fix the broken French in this one :-)_**

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"Well, I'm not telling him!"

"You're his best friend!"

Ron sputtered before he found his tongue. "You are too!"

"Well, yes, Ronald," causing said person to wince; it was never good when she took his given name, "But, as you can clearly see, I am a GIRL!"

"Whaa… ? Of course you are, what has that got to do with anything?"

"Well, this is a guy thing!"

Ron wrinkled his nose, "Eesh! No, a guy thing would be to sleep with other GIRLS! Since it's about other guys, it's clearly a GIRL thing!"

"Ronald Bilius Weasley! I cannot believe you!"

"It's true you know!" Oh oh, not one of his brightest ideas, judging by the way her hair crackled and her wand shot sparks.

"You will talk to him, he has to know." Ron gulped at the low dangerous tone of his crazy witch of a wife.

"Alright, Alright! I'll try, right?"

"That's better Ronniekins!" Hermione smiled so sweetly, Ron was confused.

"Err…"

"I'll go put some tea on, shall I?"

"Umm…"

"Eloquent as always love, I'll be in the kitchen."

"Nggh… Right…"

And Ronald Bilius Weasley ran as fast as his long legs would carry him before he remembered he could always just apparate.

He smacked his head, too hard, and ended up dizzy for a minute. Once he was sure he'd not splinch some very important parts of his, he figured this kind of conversation needed some serious liquor.

Once Ron landed somewhat less than elegantly on the apparition platform at Diagon Alley, he decided to aimlessly wander about, preparing his opening statement. He learned that from `Mione, "Opening Statement", "Have been Corpses" and other big words. Although he didn't understand how "Have Been Corpses" had any legal meaning, he figured it was something lawyer-y and left it well alone.

He had to go any marry a know-it-all. Briefly he wondered what ancient demon of La-La land had possessed him to pop the question.

Briefly, the thought flashed that it was Snape who called her that first- "Know-it-all." Never thought he'd use it himself.

Well atleast his feet knew where he was supposed to go at this time. The Cauldron seemed so crowded these days, what with that idiot of a fudge opening it up to Muggle tourists.

Muggles!

They were annoying, ooh-ing and aah-ing and generally being all tourist-y.

Well the muggles were shocked to be part of the war with old Voldie, and the prime minister and Fudge thought it was a good time to show them that Magic was not all bad.

It was by far, the most infuriating thing that had ever happened to the Magical Community.

He learned that word from 'Mione too. Infuriating. She used it a lot when he did something like make her a surprise dinner.

Well, the nerve! HE went through all that trouble to make her such a nice table setting, and she called him Infuriating?

Well, there was the small matter of burning most of the kitchen, but come on! He tried, didn't he? There was also the small matter of not listening to her warning of "Never try to cook here, Ronald," but COME ON!

It was with these thoughts in his head that Ron entered the Cauldron, saw that it was choking with muggles and walked right through the barrier into the muggle side.

But hey, with the portal always open these days, there were no sides anymore, were they?

Ron was so surprised with this suddenly intelligent thought that he thought up all by himself, that he tripped over his own feet and landed smack on his face.

Groaning with pain and annoyance, Ron was more embarrassed when he heard someone laughing in front of his temporarily mud blinded eyes.

Oh! He had died and gone to heaven.

Surely none could be as pure as this being and not be an Angel?

Since Ron had no idea he even knew to form such sentences, he figured, what the heck, it was there, so let it.

Blonde and Beautiful. And her laughter was like tiny bells in the Summer breeze.

While Ron was bewildered and pleasantly surprised at this side of him he never knew of, the blonde haired bonnie only giggled and helped him wipe the dirt off his face.

Ron Was in heaven. A beautiful woman touched him. Voluntarily! Well not that Hermione was not beautiful, but well, not THIS beautiful.

"Ummm… Thank you," Ron stammered, lost in icy grey eyes. Weirdly she reminded him of Narcissa.

Not that he hadn't a crush on her as well. There was not one non-gay boy who didn't have fantasies about Malfoy's Mom.

The gay ones had fantasies about Malfoy's Dad.

Ron realised he was being spoken to, and shook himself out of his stupor.

"I'm sorry?" he asked hot woman.

Hot woman replied, "I was wondering if you would like to get cleaned up?" She had this lilting French accent that was strangely familiar.

"Right! Yeah well, I'll just – ah," Ron waved his wand and he was all clean.

"You meesed a beet, " said hot woman, and rubbed the tip of his nose with her dainty lacey hanky.

"Ah, thanks!" Ron gave that rakish lopsided grin he knew Hermione liked.

Apparently hot woman liked it too. She blushed a little and held out her hand, "I'm Gabrielle."

So that's why she was familiar! "Gabrielle? You're Fleur's sister!"

He remembered to kiss the back of her hand, as was the proper French way, and hoped he didn't slobber too much. He was practically drooling.

Hot woman, nee, Gabrielle, giggled in a girlish fashion that Hermione never did, and replied "Yes, eet it true. I remember you from zee wedding, and zee christening. You have not been veesiting very often, oui?"

"Oui…err, yes, I've been busy you know? With work and all that. " Ron waved about vaguely.

"Yes, I suppose."

Ron stared blatantly, before realising she was waiting for him to say something.

"Err…" he started.

"Oui?"

"Well, I was heading out into muggle London to grab a drink, and would you like to come, err, have a drink with me? If you're free that it. I wouldn't want to take your time if you're busy, but if you're free, err, would you care for a drink?"

He remembered to breathe, and waited.

"Oui, Pourquoi pas? Je veux bien."

"My French's a bit rusty, you know?"

"I said yes, I would like that."

"That's great! Well, shall we?" Ron offered her his arm, very gentlemanly, he thought, and led Gabrielle down the street.

Tomorrow, Ron thought, he'd talk to Harry.

Tonight, he'd just try not to think of Hermione.


	3. Chapter 3

Hermione winced when she heard the distinct "Crack!" of apparition. Ron had yet to master the art, after many, many years of actually using the particular mode of transport. She shook her bushy head and sighed.

"Sometimes it's as if he just doesn't want to learn how to do things better. He just tells me he'll think about it," she told Luna once over tea. Luna was as usual her clairvoyant and direct self when she replied with, "It's true. He is satisfied with mediocrity."

Hermione pursed her lips, fixing herself some coffee. Nasty habit, Ron would complain, so Hermione drank it only when Ron was away.

"Why?" she asked herself, "Why do I do it? Why do I do what he wants me to do, and ignore his stupid habits?"

Because…

That was the problem. She didn't know how to complete that sentence anymore. Of course they got married as soon as the war came to an end, and he told her to stay home while he went out to battle the bad guys. She had found it romantic at the time.

Now she just wanted to smack herself upside of the head. Romantic indeed!

The war was a long time ago. Eight years had passed, and things were finally at peace. And now she had the time to think about everything she had faced in six years of her marriage to Ron.

Six years! Had it been that long? Well she had genuinely been in love with him for the first couple of years, and then the fights had started.

She wanted to work; he didn't want her to work.

He wanted a dozen children; she wanted to study further.

Molly had been twisting his ear about grandchildren a lot lately, and she really didn't have the time or the inclination.

Kids were… well… they were not what she wanted now.

So she had settled for studying long distance via owl post from Hogwarts.

Minerva had made it abundantly clear that she was disappointed in Hermione's decision. She had figured that Hermione would go on to get her Master in many subjects including Defence, Transfiguration and Potions, and Hermione had considered it till it all came crashing down on her.

Ron had no intention of having her study further.

"But 'Mione! Aren't you tired of all that book learning stuff?" he had whined.

That was their first big row.

He won when she melted at the puppy eyes and a whispered "I can't stay without you `Mione," later that night.

This time round, she did smack herself upside of her head.

"Ow," she muttered aloud, and went back to the dishes. She wondered what Snape would have said had he been alive today. He would have probably sneered at her Homely self and snarked about her turning a true Weasley woman.

"That's it! I am NOT a typical Weasley Woman!" She smashed a pan she was scrubbing into the sink, splashing soapy suds everywhere.

It belatedly occurred to her that she was arguing with a figment of her imagination.

"Of course you aren't."

Hermione spun around to find Luna at the door.

"I doubt you can do much damage with a soapy pan," Luna waved at her.

Hermione found herself wielding the pan she was scrubbing (and smashing) in front of her like a weapon, and realised she was dripping dishwater onto the floor.

"Luna! What a pleasant surprise, although you scared me out of my skin," she put down the pan and reached for her wand.

Which was not there.

"I suppose it is in the bedroom, where you were cooped up for the past day?"

Hermione smacked herself again, she had gotten careless.

Luna waved her own wand and Hermione's wand sailed through the open door and slapped into it's owner's hand.

"Ow," Hermione muttered.

"Why are you doing dishes the muggle way? Has it been that long since you used magic?"

"Err… Not that…" She couldn't remember the last time she had used a simple spell.

"Err… Day before yesterday?" Hermione tried to remember.

"If it's taking you that long to figure out, then it Has been too long. Tell me Hermione, was that another thing Ronald asked you not to do?"

Hermione was startled. "Of course not! He would never ask that of me."

"Alright then," Luna sipped the tea Hermione didn't remember making.

"Why would you say that?" Hermione sipped the tea she didn't remember making.

"Well, apart from everything you've given up because he wanted you to, this was one thing left."

"What? I haven't given up… all that much…?" Hermione's indignant response turned into a question when she saw Luna calmly looking at her, her silver eyes challenging.

"Now let's see… Further studies, career, social life…"

"Hey! I did do that correspondence course, and I am working at the ministry now. "

"You didn't complete the course; you gave up halfway because Ronald needed your undivided attention, and you work as a part time filing assistant at the ministry."

"Well, alright about the course, I did give it up, but I' working right?"

"As a FILING assistant. Hagrid could have done that job."

"It's not THAT bad… is it?"

Luna said nothing. They drank tea. It was THAT bad.

"I met Harry. He seems… oblivious and happy."

Luna shrugged, "Draco hides it well enough from him. So do we."

"What, like the suggestive silences and looks are not enough?"

"For us, yes, but this is Harry. A hippogriff has more sensibility and subtlety that him."

Ouch. Luna never minced words, did she?

They drank tea. Luna always showed up when Hermione didn't even know she needed to air things out, but always at the right time.

"I just thought you needed to get things straight. So are you going to leave him?"

That was not what she expected. "Leave Ron? That's not an option!"

"Why not?"

"Err…"

Luna ticked off on her fingers, "No kids, not much to split up, individual accounts at Gringotts, Unhappy mother in law, shall I go on?"

"No, thank you. I can't just up and leave him! We've been married six years!"

Four of them in doubt, a little voice niggled her thoughts.

"Long enough to realise that someone who yearns for perfection is not a good match for someone who thrives on mediocrity."

"Luna, it's not that I don't care for Ron…"

"You just don't love him as one loves a husband."

"No?"

Luna canted an eyebrow.

Hermione hummed and drank her tea.

Luna waved a spell at the dishes, which started washing themselves.

Hermione didn't realise she was alone till a while later. She also hadn't realised that it was past 6 in the evening. She sighed.

Best get started on dinner.

She was wondering what to make for dinner when Ron's patronus came through the open window.

He wasn't going to be home. Complications had arisen. See you.

Translation: Ron was going to be drunk, didn't want to face her wrath.

Hermione muttered to herself about irresponsible husbands, and oblivious friends, and it came to her that this was a Good thing.

She needed to think, and she had no interruptions.

She ordered in from the wonderful little Indian place they never went to because Ron didn't like Indian. She also ordered Winky to get her a fine bottle of wine from somewhere, because Ron didn't drink anything but Butterbeer and Pumpkin juice, so they never had wine at home.

Settling into a big delicious meal, Hermione made plans.


	4. Chapter 4

"You did WHAT??"

"Honestly Harry, it was not my fault!"

"I fail to see how it was NOT your fault? It was you who did the stuffing!"

"We don't know that for sure!"

"What? Oh let me see," Harry ticked off on his fingers,

"A) you went out last night with a woman, your SISTER - IN - LAW for crying out loud!

B) You wake up this morning in a muggle hotel, naked and alone.

C) you have lipstick on your collar, not to mention your face.

D) You can't remember a bloody thing because you were so bloody drunk, so now tell me you bloody idiot, how is it NOT YOUR FAULT???"

Harry yelled all this, cornering Ron into the sofa, where he now cowered at his Best Friend's righteous wrath. After all, he had cheated on his wife of 6 years and love of many more; at least it looked like he had cheated, but he honestly didn't remember a bloody thing, except having a few drinks with the beautiful Gabrielle.

"Harry, mate, my best friend, pal, I really don't remember mate! I must have been drugged!"

"The hell you were, and who would drug you? The Death Eaters?"

"Err…?"

"No one, Ronald Weasley, would consider you half worthy to go through the trouble of drugging you, and then have their way with you, you stupid oaf! Get over yourself. You just aren't that good looking, nor popular…"

"Okay! Okay, I get it!" Ron cut off Harry's tirade mid sentence, slightly insulted.

"How the hell did you meet Gabrielle anyway? Has this been going on longer than one night??"

Ron winced and ducked his head, "I just met her mate, and no, this was the first time Harry! I'd never do that to Hermione!"

"So you say," Harry replied, ice in his voice.

"Harry," Ron pleaded, "I swear I never meant it to go beyond a few drinks mate. I was just on my way to talk to you about something, and just as I was going to just have a drink because Hermione and I had another row, and I fell on my face and she was there so beautiful and thirsty and we went to the pub…"

"You're babbling, and sounds like it was a Date… so beautiful and thirsty? What the hell RON?"

"Harry mate, you err, never give in to enjoying eye candy?"

"No."

"Oh. Hmm. Well. It's like this…"

"I know exactly what it was you horrible Man! Ron, I like your hair and your strong body, but it doesn't mean I go out on a date with you."

"Huh?" Ron was startled…Harry like him?

"But you, err, don't like me like me, right?"

"What? Oh! No, you're not all that hot."

"I'm not sure if I should be relieved or insulted."

"And I'm not sure if I have to clobber you one!"

"Oh right, the Gabrielle thing."

"Yes, the Gabrielle thing! You don't remember anything beyond the few drinks?"

"I swear I don't! Like I said, I was supposed to come see you, and I just wanted to unwind a bit before that, and there she was mate! I thought well, a few drinks for old times sake wouldn't hurt none, and then I wake up with a hangover, alone and robe-less and drawing a complete blank," Ron thought for a bit, "The room had already been paid for…in her name…"

"AAAARGH! SO you DID sleep with her!!"

"Well, just because she paid for the room that I woke up in the morning…"

"RONALD BILIUS WEASLEY!"

"Stop shouting Harry, I still have a bit of a hangover mate…" Ron cringed.

"THAT'S WONDERFUL!"

"Now I think you're doing it on purpose…"

"YOU THINK?"

"Aaah!"

"You have to tell her."

"No way mate! She'll hex my balls off!"

"And rightly so, I should think!"

"Harry! You, a man, can tell the importance of Bits!"

"Yes, but not Cheating Bits!"

"Well since I remember nothing, can we just assume it didn't happen?"

"Oh! Of course Ron."

"Really?"

"No! You blundering fool!"

"Ah. Well, I can't tell her. She'll kill me."

"If you don't, I'll kill you."

"Oh. What??"

"You heard me."

"This is blackmail! I can oblivate you, you know!" Ron brandished his wand.

"Probably, if you even knew what the bloody spell was, you half-wit. It's Obliviate, and there is a way of doing it that you couldn't get in seventh year, and which you won't get now, and even if you manage it, you think I'd just watch you erase my memory? You could end up killing me or worse, erasing my entire memory!"

"You should get your priorities straight, mate. Amnesia is not worse than death."

Harry slapped his head with a palm.

"Harry?"

"Yes Ron?"

"Can we get some breakfast? I'm starving."

Harry stared at Ron, his best friend of many, many years, and wondered. Why?

"Alright you afflicted man, call the house elf, and eat your last meal as a dying man."

Come to think of it, Ron always ate his meals as if they were his last. Harry saw Ron dig into his breakfast and fill that bottomless pit he called a stomach, and wondered again; why?


	5. Chapter 5

"What were you on about? Talking to me last night?"

"Aauf?"

This is going to be a very long day, Harry thought, and repeated his question, "You said you were coming here to talk to me about something last night, before you went and bollocksed up your marriage."

Ron swallowed a whole mouthful and Harry winced at the descending lump in Ron's throat. Any other human being would have found that painful. Since Ron had been such an expert at gulping down half the breakfast table in a hurry before class at Hogwarts, while the rest of the lazy lot smuggled in a couple of slices of toast and kippers, Harry supposed there was something of an immunity to pain of such nature.

"Harry! My marriage is not ruined… at least not until someone tells her."

"Oh well knowing you Ron, you'd be jumpy like you've got ants down your pants and mate, you are talking about Hermione here! Smartest witch of our lot? "

"Right, there is that."

"Yeah, and not to mention, you're a pathetic liar."

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"I can keep this up all day mate!"

"So Can I!"

Ron deflated and hung his head. It was true, Harry could keep it up better than him, so Ron went back to picking up another slice of toast.

And found that the table had moved away.

"Hey! I wasn't finished!"

"You could eat a whole hippogriff and you'd still not be done. Now tell me, what were you on about?"

"Err, am not done yet?"

"RONALD!"

"Aah…okay, okay. Hermione sent me to tell you something important."

"And you're 10 hours late, out with it!"

"Well, you see err, it goes like this mate… remember how you figured the flu potion was a good one? Oh by the way, thanks for that mate!"

A vein in Harry's temple throbbed.

"Right! Well, it's about you and Draco, in a way."

"And…?"

Ron shuffled his feet under the table, "And Charlie…" he paused.

"What about me and Draco and Charlie?"

The door to the sitting room was flung open with a great BANG! And both men stood and whipped their wands out, Harry automatically throwing up a wordless protection shield.

It was years of practice and paranoia.

"Honey! I'm Hooooome!"

Draco stepped into the room, cloak thrown casually over one arm, and nonchalantly raised an eyebrow when he saw the Weasley trademark red hair.

"Weasel."

"Ferret."

Harry sighed, would these two never get along? For goodness sake, it had been many years since school and technically Ron was supposed to be good to his lover.

No such luck.

"Hello Harry, won't come here for a nice welcome home after a long day?"

Harry complied, but kept it clean. Ron always went red and uncomfortable when they got intimate, "It's ten in the morning Drake. You were gone less than two hours."

Draco sniffed, "Well, that is a long day then."

Ron rolled his eyes, long indeed. "Hmmf."

"What was that Weasel? I didn't hear you quite well."

"Draco, come on, stop calling him that."

"You always take his side," Draco pouted.

"Aww, it's not like that love, " Harry smoothed away the pout.

"Ugh! Get a ruddy room!"

"Ron!" Harry snapped, "I have seen you do much more to Hermione, and I haven't said shit. Shut up or get out! I have tried to get you to accept us, but…"

Ron was sheepish, "Sorry Harry, it's just that I'm squeamish with two blokes' up to that stuff…"

"Get used to it, Ron." Harry stormed off to the kitchen.

"Seems like you have nothing to say for yourself, Weasel," Draco said coldly, "Stay here, I will be back."

Ron was left alone in the sitting room.

"Why can't I just keep my face and mouth shut?" Ron smacked his forehead. This was not going well. Harry was pissed off at him, and he would be too, except Ron had no bloody idea how to make this right, and break the bad news to Harry about Draco.

Briefly, Ron considered moving to another country and starting over, but quickly discarded that idea. Hermione would hunt him down, even if he hid at the centre of the earth. It was hopeless.

Ron was mortally afraid of his wife.

Pathetic, really.

Even the Hermione inside his head was scary.

Ron went to the window and looked out at the grounds of Malfoy Manor. It was really quite beautiful this time of the year. The trees were in full bloom, not to mention Narcissa's roses. They were of beautiful hues, and Draco had tended to them himself, as a loving tribute to his mother.

"Beautiful, aren't they?"

"Yes, they are."

"It's especially this time of year that they bloom to their finest, at the peak of Spring."

"Yeah, Mum says the same with our garden, something to do with the right amount of humidity and soil being not too dry."

"That's true, although in England it's the incessant rain and lack of sunshine that we worry about, rather than excessive heat."

"Right, but it is rather warm for spring, don't you think?"

"Yes, well it was a mild winter too."

"Hmm."

Draco realised with a start that they had not once sniped at each other. They actually had a civil conversation.

Some part of him wanted to stoke the coals and get it going, but he was just too tired.

Apparently Weasley felt the same. He just gave Draco a measuring look and went back to staring at the roses.

Hermione loves roses, Ron thought, maybe I ought to get her a bunch.

"Why can't you just accept it that Harry is happy with me?"

"Look, it's not that! I just didn't expect him to be… you know?"

"Gay?"

"Well, that… it was always the idea that he would end up with Ginny and we'd all be together again, you know? The war messed up all our lives, and we just wanted it to be normal again."

"Yes, we all wanted it to go back, but you have to admit it that it didn't, and things are different."

"I'm trying, Malfoy. It's not that easy."

"At least you married Granger right? So you got a part of it to happen?"

Ron looked at Malfoy, Draco, and thought how odd it was, that they were having a conversation like non-enemies; like friends even!

"Why are we being nice to each other Malfoy?"

"I don't know. All I know is that the war was a long time ago, it made all our lives miserable, and I want Harry to be happy."

"So you're doing this for him?"

"Would you believe it?"

Ron watched the roses some more. After a minute of silence, he turned toward Draco, and stuck out a hand.

Surprised, Draco took it, and they shook. No words were said, but the meaning was clear. Their personal war was over.

"I would believe it," Ron said softly, and glanced back at Draco, "but it will take time for me to get used to it."

Draco nodded and they went back to watching the roses.

"In light of our new found peace, I have to ask you to do something."

"So there's a catch?"

Draco gave a lopsided smile which didn't touch his eyes.

"I won't tell if you won't."

Ron jerked his head up and saw the smug pose Draco held, arms crossed across his chest and leaning back on the wide window sill.

He knew.

Ron wanted to rip the peace to shreds and kill him then and there. But Draco was excellent with wandless magic; he knew from the time they fought on the same side.

Draco watched Weasley turn an interesting shade of red and purple. It was quite amusing really, but he also slipped his wand free from his sleeve, into his hand. He knew the weasel was angry, and he also knew the weasel would punch first, like a common muggle, before he remembered he was a wizard. He didn't want to provoke him too much now.

After all, he had just calmed Harry, and it took a great deal to calm him down. He just didn't have the strength to play another session of "Balance the power" just yet.

He knew there were the cons of getting together with one of the most powerful wizards since Merlin, not to mention one of the most unstable. Harry had not yet mastered the art of controlling bursts of magic at times of emotional turmoil.

After all, he did grow up with filthy muggles who didn't teach him table manners, let alone self control.

Many times Draco felt like a nanny to him. Harry, don't do this, Harry don't do that; mind your manners, wear decent robes, don't eat like a baboon…

Watching Weasley struggle to control his emotions made Draco sure that it was not completely the muggles' fault. After all, he also grew up with a know-it-all and a buffoon.

When Ron was calm enough, he took a deep breath and asked Malfoy, "What do you want?"

"Just what I said; you leave the Charlie matter alone, and I'll leave the Gabrielle matter alone."

"You want me to not tell Harry that you are a lying cheating bastard??"

"And I won't tell Granger-Weasley that you are a lying cheating son of a bitch."

"Ha! For once you missed something Ferret; even if you don't, Harry will."

"Leave that to me."

"And how exactly do you plan to manage that? Obliviate him? That's cruel, even for you Malfoy, not to mention, he will find out something's missing, and he will kill you."

"I'm pretty sure you are that thick, so I will tell you how. No, I will not mess with his head, well, not literally of course. You see, Harry has a guilt complex that could have rivalled Severus', and I will make use of that to keep his mouth shut about Delacour, but you have to leave the Charlie matter alone, and take a vow never to let him know."

"I don't get it Malfoy, but I trust your deviousness; I have one other thing, although, a condition of my own."

"Not enough that I'm saving what's left of your marriage?"

"Not nearly. Hermione will eventually forgive me, if she found out. It won't be easy and it will be a very long winter, but she will forgive me. Harry, not so much of a forgiver."

Draco raised an eyebrow; the weasel had a point, "What's your asking?"

Ron turned and crossed his arms. "You have to take a vow never to cheat on Harry again," he paused and added, "as long as you are together, that is."

Draco considered this, and sighed. Ron waited.

"That incident with Charlie was an isolated incident. We never meant to cheat on our partners."

"But? You expect me to believe you?"

"Believe what you want!" Draco snapped, and then calmed down, "I love Harry. I was just confused, and we were going through a rough patch, and Charlie was there, all bronzed glory, and well, it happened."

"You're blaming my brother now?"

"I'm not blaming anyone Weasley, it was just circumstances." Draco paused, and added, "Just like you now."

"Right."

Draco scrubbed his face, "alright Weasley, do you want the deal or not?"

"All inclusive?"

"Yes."

Ron thought about it, it was not one of his best options, but right now, he didn't want to have to give Hermione a reason to be mad at him.

"Alright Malfoy, we have a deal."

They shook on it.

"Tea?"

"Yes please."

"Perhaps we should head to the kitchen? Harry is sleeping it off, he'll be out for a while."

"Why do I have the feeling that you drugged him?"

"That's because you don't trust me."

"Right, just so you know."

"And because I did. Drug him, that is."

"What??"

"Oh quit giving me that holier-than-thou look Weasley, it's not like you never slipped calming potion to your wife once a while."

"Err…no?"

Draco gave him an incredulous look, "And you survived Granger this long?"

"Well it's not that bad actually."

Draco canted an eyebrow.

"Err… mumble mumble mumble mumble…"

"Weasley, I doubt even you understood that mumbling. Speak up man!"

"I didn't think of it, alright?"

"By Salazar! You ARE that thick! You do remember you're a wizard that often, do you?"

"Har bloody har, Malfoy," Ron sulked.

Draco only chuckled, and they went to the kitchens for tea, and Ron saved the calming potion idea for later use.


	6. Chapter 6

She ought to worry, Hermione told herself, and yet she couldn't come to care. Ron was away many times on missions, and this was a mission of sorts, she supposed.

A little part of her seemed happy with the peace, and she squashed that part quickly. Ron was her husband, and she ought to worry.

But she didn't.

Certainly took you long enough, that squashed part re-emerged to say, you finally realise that this is a match that has beaten odds till now.

Till now. Not anymore.

Hermione tied and re-tied her unruly hair, and re-did the dishes' cupboard, and worried about everything connected to nothing.

And then it struck her, that she had a mission!

Quickly, she went to the bedroom and hoped that Winky, in her concern for Mistress Hermione's mental state, hadn't cleaned up.

Mistress Hermione's mental state indeed! Winky didn't even know words like mental state or concern. Hermione wondered if she was truly in such a state as to expect a house elf to have a sound grammatical knowledge.

Bah Humbug!

The vial was there, capped and almost empty. There was a drop of it left, and briefly, she wondered if Snape could have tested the quality, were he alive.

She's been thinking about Snape a whole lot lately. It was odd, really.

She had never thought of him so much, at least not since school, and not since 4th and 5th year.

Hermione blushed as memories of the summer of 4th year came back. It was the time when she was "discovering herself" as her mother put it. She couldn't sit still in potions' class, and desperately pushed her mind into overdrive, just to keep it off the topic of Snape.

Well, Snape's chocolate voice actually.

"Oohkay! Time for a bit of research," Hermione spelled the label off the bottle and set to work.

"Paranoid seal," she said to no one in particular, "now why does that seem familiar?"

She sniffed the vial and made a note of the ingredients she could fathom from smell, and ran through some spell books to see if there was a spell for reverse engineering a potion.

Turns out, there were none.

"Well that's not possible," she huffed and fire-called Molly.

An hour later, Hermione was no closer to an answer, and much more closer to a meltdown, having spent that much time listening to Molly twist her ear about children and "continuing the line"; pshaw! As if there weren't enough Weasleys in the world already!

Grumbling about nosey mothers-in-law and her own stupidity, Hermione decided tea would be nice. A quick glance at the clock showed that Ron's hand was pointing at "Elevenses". He must still be at the manor then.

Briefly, she wondered what was taking Ron that long to talk to Harry. Well, she thought, at least he is trying.

As she sipped tea and thought about the seal.

"Start from the beginning," she told herself, "and see where it leads." She had to know about this seal, especially if prices of potions and charms were going up. She had been mildly surprised when she found that charms were patented too, and people had to pay for the more complex patented charms. It was an elaborate system, but it came down to: "It's magic!"

It was like the muggle version of software and music and all that copyrighted stuff. She figured there was pirating in the wizarding world, but it would be far more difficult to fool magic.

If the copyrighters were smart enough to figure out the loopholes, that it. And she was pretty sure the idiots at the ministry couldn't be bothered to be efficient of course.

That's it! Hermione snapped her fingers. Seals were charms! Which meant they had magical signatures of the caster. If she could get the signature, she could have a name, or at least a lead to follow.

Unless they were using junior casters for the seal, a senior caster would test the potion with some sort of spell designed to tell of the potion's merit, and if the seal was That popular that it helped the producers to raise prices and not expect sales drop, then the calibration of the merit gauging spell was pretty high, and that required complex spell casting.

Complex spells, she knew from personal experience, required concentration and power, proportionate to the complexity. Like how potion brewing had similar requirements.

Hermione was happy like this. An idea with research involved and she was in her element. Ron and Harry and Draco and Charlie and Luna all went sailing out of her thoughts and she became driven by this seal, The Paranoid Seal.

It was an odd name, she concluded, but strangely made sense. Paranoia had served them well during the war and shortly after. The Order's Paranoia had kept the oblivious lot of muggles and magical folk protected.

She shook her head and concentrated on the task at hand. She wanted to know how she could get the magical signature of the charm caster, and how she could figure out the owner.

The charm probably needed to be amplified to do it, she thought. Now how would one technically apply such amplification? There were so many things to figure out, and since it was charms, she figured Flitwick would be able to help. She probably could catch him after lunch, but she had to hurry. It was already noon.

She fire-called the headmistress' office.

McGonagall was in, but called out an "I'm busy!" from her desk. Hermione bit her lip, and forced herself not to be demanding.

"I'll call back Professor," she said, and made to withdraw from the fireplace.

"Oh! Ms. Granger! Wait!"

"Yes Professor?"

"I'm sorry dear, those ministry representatives have been bothering me all morning, and so I thought it was them again."

"Oh, may I ask why Professor?"

"Incidentally, I wanted to discuss that with you, would you be free for tea at around 3?"

"Of course, Professor. I have taken the day off."

"Any particular reason?"

"Oh, just recovering from the flu actually."

"Oh my! Are you better now?"

"Cured actually, Harry had some brilliant potion."

"I see. Was there any reason you called, Mrs. Weasley?"

"Actually, I was wondering if I may have a word with Professor Flitwick, at lunch?"

"Oh I'm sure I can arrange for an extra seat at the High Table."

"Err, the High Table? Well, I was thinking more of just a chat. I, err, don't want to impose on you."

"Nonsense! Unless you don't want to eat at the high table of course," McGonagall frowned at her.

"No no, not at all! I would be honoured to."

"Very well then, lunch starts in about 15 minutes. Perhaps you should, prepare?"

"Thank you Professor, I'll see you there."

"Good bye Mrs. Weasley."

"Good bye Professor."

Hermione sat back from the fire, and it turned back from green to golden. Hermione had never sat at the High table before. And to be in the sight of all those children!

Hermione groaned and got up to change her clothes. They would probably whisper and speculate, and there would be wild rumours flying free around the school.

They'd probably start one saying that Flitwick and she were having an affair!

Hermione tried not to let her overactive imagination run wild, and got ready to travel to Hogwarts. No time to take the Floo, she thought, and left a note for Ron to find. If he even came back before she did.

Concentrating on the spot just outside the front gates, she closed her eyes and turned on the spot.


	7. Chapter 7

"Why, hello Ms. Granger," Flitwick greeted her cheerfully, as she took the seat between him and Professor McGonagall.

"Hello Professor," she smiled at him and greeted the headmistress as well. She made small talk with McGonagall for a bit, before excusing herself and turning toward Flitwick.

"What can I do for you Ms. Granger," Flitwick spoke between bites of food.

Hermione didn't feel like correcting him, so she ignored the mistake and asked causally, "I was wondering if you knew of any way for getting the signature of a charm?"

"Magical signature of the caster?" Hermione nodded. "Well that is a very complex thing, may I ask why, Ms. Granger?"

"Call me Hermione, please," she smiled, "Oh, it's just something they want me to research at the ministry. They want to verify the charm caster signature for some patent filing." She hoped he couldn't hear the whistling as the lies went through her teeth.

"Ah, interesting," Flitwick nodded, and paused for thought. "Well, I haven't personally used such spells, but I am sure I have some books on it. By when do you need it?"

"Well, I was hoping by the weekend, but if you can point me to a book about it, I can do the work. I know you're really busy."

"Ah, that is all well, my dear. Will you be here later? I have to look for it."

"I have an appointment for tea with the headmistress at three, shall I come by your office at four or so?"

"Of course, of course. Now, if you'll excuse me, I should go prepare for my class."

"Thank you professor, I'll see you later, shall I?"

"Later," Flitwick waved to her before pushing back from the table and heading out through the side door.

"I couldn't help overhearing," Hermione startled, "Oh! Did I startle you?"

"A little, sorry Professor, I was just thinking of something."

"Looks like you have some research to do. No wonder you're lost in your own world."

Hermione blushed. Sometimes she felt like a right geek. "Err…"

"It's alright my dear. You remind me of someone," she said sadly.

Hermione's gut gave a funny twist. "Of whom, if I may ask, Professor?"

"Why, Severus was just the same when he was your age, and in school too. He would get so lost in his work."

Hermione smiled sadly. The man was a hero. Somehow they all had always looked at him, and failed to see that he had had a childhood too. The man was a hero, and heroes didn't have traits, they had virtues.

McGonagall excused herself, and left the table, and Hermione knew she missed him most of all; they had been friends while he had taught here. She had been devastated when he killed Dumbledore, but even more when the truth had come out.

Hermione had overheard her speak to Mr. Weasley, "If he had only shared something with me! Oh Arthur, I feel terrible for accusing him!"

It was a guilt they all had shared. They all had accused him of being a murderer.

Hermione looked up to see the hall had almost emptied. She sighed and made to leave. The library would be a good place to start.

She pressed the little vial in her pocket, and climbed the stairs, thinking about Snape.

"I wonder why she wanted to have tea with me? And that too over something related to the ministry representatives?" Hermione thought as she approached the gargoyle.

She smiled and patted the gargoyle, fondly remembering Professor Dumbledore's passwords. She very much doubted McGonagall had stuck to the same format.

"Err? Liquorice sticks? Lemon Drops? M & Ms?"

"That's not going to go on all afternoon is it?" Hermione was startled to see the gargoyle speak.

"Err, I guess not," Hermione muttered, "The headmistress is expecting me, Hermione Granger-Weasley."

The gargoyle went silent, and a few moments later, the gargoyle moved aside to reveal the moving staircase. Hermione stepped on and waited to reach the top.

McGonagall was waiting for her at the top, beaming about something. Hermione instantly put herself on guard. Although McGonagall was not anywhere near as devious as Dumbledore, she was not to be underestimated. Hermione had seen proof when the ministry had tried to bring Hogwarts under their control after the war.

On the outside, Hermione smiled sweetly and followed the headmistress into the office. A steaming tea service was already arranged, perhaps not so accidentally arranged near Dumbledore's portrait.

Hermione observed the well worn chair across the table, opposite the portrait. It seemed McGonagall took tea often with Dumbledore.

"Ah! Ms. Granger, or should I say Mrs. Granger-Weasley?" Dumbledore beamed from his portrait.

Somewhere Hermione's mind went "Oh…oh…"

"Hello Professor Dumbledore, I trust everything is well?"

"Quite Mrs. Weasley, thank you for asking. Oh, may I call you Hermione? I find last names such a chore. Please call me Albus."

"Of course Prof…err.. Albus," Hermione smiled back. Dumbledore twinkled.

Hermione took a seat indicated by the headmaster and observed the office. She hadn't been here since the last Order meeting, and that was years ago. Not much had changed; still the same old carpet, and the same old curtains, although some of Albus' pet contraptions were not around. In their place, were piles of papers, neatly arranged, and muggle-style files.

"How do you take your tea?"

"Oh, no milk, lemon and two sugars."

McGonagall played mother, and Hermione soon had a steaming cup of tea in her hands. She inhaled the wonderful smell. It was good to have some proper tea; her teas were never this good. Although the manor always served fantastic tea.

She sipped and let the hot liquid flow and warm her system. It felt wonderful. She stretched her neck and released some stiffness.

McGonagall was watching with interest. Hermione noticed and glanced around, unable to meet her eyes.

"Hermione, I'm not a woman to beat around the bush…" a small cough came from the portrait, and McGonagall ignored it, "I want to retire from teaching, and devote my time to running the school."

Hermione waited.

"The ministry has been pushing to have one of their people take my place as Transfiguration master, and after the Dolores fiasco," She frowned, "I will not have them traipsing around my school."

"Who do you have in mind?"

McGonagall looked mildly surprised, "you of course!"

Hermione gaped.

"Well? Hermione?"

"Err.. ah.. But I don't have a master in Transfiguration!" she said lamely.

"I am willing to overlook that if you promise to get one as soon as you can."

"But Professor, you know Ron won't…" she cut off and stared at her tea cup, ashamed. She sounded like a five year old, still needing permission.

"Honestly Hermione," the headmistress continued sharply, "I confess myself disappointed."

"It's not that, Professor, Ron has a hard time without me around."

"Although I admire your need to take care of your husband, I feel quite agitated that such a fine mind is going to waste!"

Hermione felt really ashamed. Here she was, being granted leniency for the job most people academically inclined coveted for, and she was making excuses for her husband's need to be molly-coddled.

It was very pathetic.

She looked up to meet the kindly gaze of the older woman. "I would love the job, Professor," she rubbed her face, "but it's just that I need to discuss it with Ron."

"That's alright, I need to decide by Monday, and I confess, I hope that you will take the job," She put her tea cup on the table.

"Hermione," Dumbledore said gently.

"Yes professor?" Hermione looked at the portrait, Dumbledore was smiling.

"I would urge you to take the position, as a favour to an old coot."

"But I…"

"It is a good opportunity for you, my dear. You can finally get that masters in the many subjects you excel at, and still be home for supper."

Hermione figured Dumbledore had a point.

"Well, you'll have to test with me, to see if you are good, but I'm sure you'll as usual, do very well. I can have the test ready this Saturday."

Hermione had run out of excuses, and obviously couldn't blame it on the three small children, seeing that she had no small children. She figured she'd walked right into it.

And Ron wouldn't mind, she thought, it was only Hogwarts. She didn't want to fight again.

In the end, she agreed to take the test, but insisted that McGonagall give no room for error.

"Have I ever?" McGonagall canted an eyebrow.

Hermione smiled and thanked her for her time. She remembered she had to go pick up the book from Flitwick, and made her way down to the charms classroom.

There was a class just finishing up, so she waited outside while the students filed out.

"Were we ever so young?" Hermione asked herself, and walked into the classroom.

Flitwick greeted her warmly, made small talk for a few minutes, and invited her to tea in the office. Hermione declined, stating that she had just taken tea with the headmistress. It looked like Flitwick wanted to ask what it was about, but thankfully refrained.

She didn't want to go around telling people that she was the new transfiguration master, not just yet. Besides, she could just as easily bollocks up the test.

"Yeah right!" said one small smug part of her brain. Of course she was going to practice it to death and do flawlessly. It was just how she was, obsessed with perfection.

Who needed to get a permission slip from her husband to do what she wanted to do, supplied another part of her brain. She shushed it, and concentrated on what Flitwick was saying.

After a few more minutes, she excused herself and promised to return the book soon. Flitwick invited her to keep it as long as she wanted, and she felt immensely grateful. She had that transfiguration exam coming up in three days, and she needed to do this well.

If not to get the job, to prove to her self that her intelligence wasn't dead just yet.

Clutching the book to her chest, she walked to the spot just outside the gates, enjoying the rare outing, and apparated to her garden with a small pop.


	8. Chapter 8

Of course it was going to be a problem, Hermione thought to herself as she sat across from Ron, at the dinner table.

He was ecstatic when he saw that the table was laden with his favourite foods, which, Ron being who he was, was almost every dish Winky could make, without finishing the food in the pantry.

"Winky is tired, Miss," she complained in rare form, "Winky cannot do anymore tonight."

Hermione wondered exactly what it took to tire a house elf. The answer was simple: it took the appetite of a Weasley.

However did Molly manage to feed a whole clan of them, without the help of an elf? She shuddered at the thought of cooking to Ron and any children they might have.

Not to mention said person was now spraying bits of food from his mouth trying to speak with his mouth full.

Didn't Molly teach them any manners?

On second thought, Molly might have tried, but judging by the thickness of Ron's skull, not even Molly's nagging might have made it through.

Hermione looked at Ron stuffing his face, although he admitted to having a meal at the Manor just before; Hermione wondered: Why?

"I'm quitting the job at the ministry," she said quietly.

"That's brill!" Ron exploded, and Hermione just had to interrupt.

"Say it Ron, Don't Spray it!" she wiped her face with the serviette and made a face.

Ron swallowed, and Hermione winced at the size of the descending lump.

"Sorry 'Mione, it's just that I am so happy to hear it! Now you can spend more time with Mum, and maybe we can think about a family…"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I wasn't clear enough; I'm quitting the ministry, not employment."

It took a minute for the fact to sink in, but when it did…

"You have another job in mind? Hermione!"

"Yes, Ronald?"

He winced at the tone, but steeled his reserve.

"I don't want you to work Hermione. I am the man of the house and it's my job to earn the bread."

"How primitive Ron! Besides, it's not just about the money; that's a plus, but I get to do something I like also!"

"How about taking care of me? And having a family? It's been eight years! Eight!"

Hermione hesitated. In for a penny, in for a pound.

"I'm not ready for kids yet."

Ron gaped like a fish, "Not ready? How much more time do you need? You do want to have a family, don't you?"

Hermione paused, and Ron saw it.

"We talked about this," she said, "You said you'd wait till I'm ready."

"That was years ago!" he exploded, "this isn't right!"

"And what about you, Ronald? Are you so busy with your own wants that you forgot about what I want?"

"What are you on about? I let you study, and I let you work, and…"

"You also stopped me from studying anything seriously, or getting any meaningful job!"

"You don't need to study, or work!"

"If you are so sure of what I don't need, then tell me what you think I DO need?"

"You need to stay home and be my wife, and the mother of my children!"

"What am I? Just an object? All I am hearing is what YOU want, what I need to be to make YOU happy?"

"Isn't that your purpose? To make me happy?"

"WHAT??"

"Err…?" Too late.

"In which world, dimension or figment of your most limited imagination did you even conceive that my sole purpose was to be your little toy or slave or trophy wife? However did you even deem to think that for one moment, I would give everything up for you, just so I could cook your meals, or wash your underwear, or change dirty nappies and be HAPPY about it?"

"Well that's rich, you don't cook except for some breakfast, and you're not all that much of a trophy," Hermione sputtered at this, "besides, there are no dirty nappies to change because you are too bloody selfish to think about anything more than yourself!"

"I'M too selfish? Why, the unmitigated gall! I gave up my education for you! And my career!"

"All that you ever think about is books! And reading and ruddy education! Well with all the education you have, there is hardly enough to make you a good wife like mum!"

"Oh really! If you think your mum is so brilliant, then you can go stay with her, for all I bloody care!"

"Fine then! You go and live with those bloody books of yours and maybe you can mate with the first edition of Hogwarts: A history, and make historical little babies!"

Hermione snarled. It was the last straw.

"I am taking that job at Hogwarts, and…"

"Hogwarts? You're going to be filing at Hogwarts?"

"Filing? IS that… Augh! I'm going to teach, Ronald."

"Teach, and you? You'd scare the kids!"

"What?" Hermione shrieked, "I do NOT scare children!"

"Well, that's what you say!"

"Augh!"

"Besides, old McGonagall wouldn't take someone who hasn't got a master in the subject… what'll you teach anyway?"

"She already did! Transfiguration!"

"Err… "

"Yes Ronald, 'Err' indeed! I'm going to pack."

"Pack? Whatever for?"

"So I can go make little historical babies, you… AUGH!"

"You're leaving?"

He followed her into the bedroom where she started packing some basic things.

"You can't leave me!"

She canted an eyebrow. "You want to bet on that?"

"Come on Hermione," he pleaded, "it was such a small matter, and you're over reacting!"

"Over reacting, am I?" she poked him in the chest, hard.

"Ow! Yes, it was no worse than the rows we've had before."

"Just because it isn't any worse, doesn't make it any worse!"

"You're not making any sense at all!"

"Just because it doesn't make any sense to you??"

"I'm not stupid Hermione!"

"Yes you ARE, Ronald!"

"Right, because you're so bloody smart!"

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"That you're not as smart as everyone thinks you are! You with your… your… books and learning and… things!"

"Eloquent as always."

"Well if you think me so stupid, why did you even marry me?"

"I don't know!"

"Oh right! There is something the know-it-all doesn't know!"

She slapped him. And then she left, a very bewildered Ron holding his swiftly reddening cheek standing alone in the bedroom.


	9. Chapter 9

"I can't believe he did that!" Hermione complained, "I think I made a big mistake…"

"In leaving him or not leaving him earlier?"

"I should have thought about it earlier, but I still feel bad leaving him like that."

"The only things you don't feedl bad for, are stones."

"What?"

"You feel bad for everything and everyone that has a remote trace of life, so I'm not surprised that here you are, in the middle of the night, having left your husband too damn late in your marriage because he is such an ass, and yet you're feeling bad for him."

"Err…"

"You have no sense of self-worth, do you?"

Hermione gaped. If it was anyone else, she would have thought it was said out of spite or anger or revenge, but this…this was Luna. She said things because they were; called a spade a spade.

"Are you going to go back to him?"

"I don't know…" Hermione buried her head in her hands.

"Alright, I have said all I could; it's up to you now."

Luna was gone before Hermione could form a proper response.

* * *

"I can't believe she did that!"

Harry rubbed his tired eyes and pulled his nightgown tighter around himself.

"She just walked out on me!"

"And got a good whack at you in the process," Harry yawned hugely.

Ron glared; Harry stared.

"Look, can't we talk in the morning? It's late mate."

"No! How can you sleep when I'm in a crisis??"

"Ron, this is hardly a crisis. You have had plenty of rows, and if you don't let me get back to bed, you'll have to watch me fall asleep here on the rug."

"Harry," Ron sounded so wounded, Harry sighed and relented.

"Alright Ron, come on over. If we're going to keep this up, I'm going to need a lot of tea in me."

Ron nodded and waited for Harry to move away from the fireplace before stepping through.

With tea in hand, Harry was quite awake.

"She didn't really leave you, she's probably gone to Luna's to cool off."

"Harry, I know Hermione, this time, she is probably not coming back."

"You can't be serious? Is this because of, you know, what happened last night?"

"Err… no, we got into this row before I could confess."

"Were you planning to confess at all?" Harry asked sharply.

"Harry! That's not the point now!"

"Augh! You are an animal Ron!"

"Hey, what was that for?"

"She was probably going to leave you after you told her anyway!"

"You're not helping!"

"Either you two shut the hell up, or put up a bloody silencing spell!"

Both men looked up at Draco, who stood glaring at the living room door.

"Sorry love, Ron was just leaving."

"Harry! I need you mate!"

"What you need is to talk to Hermione, without being an ass," Harry raised his hand to cut off whatever retort Ron had in mind, "And you need to understand that Hermione is not your personal servant to do as you tell her to."

"How'd you know what we fought about? Did she come here?" Ron was wide-eyed.

"No you berk, what else have you two been fighting about other that that? She gave up so much for you Ron, and you can't even treat her right!"

"I'd have to agree with Harry here, you are obviously unsuited to treating any intelligent life form right. It's just not you."

"Shut it Ferret, you're the one to talk!"

"What's that supposed to mean Ron?" Harry clenched his fists.

Draco's eyes blazed in warning. Remember your vow.

Ron sagged a little, "Nothing," he mumbled, "I'll just go."

"Right. Something's not right," Harry looked between the two men glaring holes into each other, "you two are acting strange."

"Oh, I'm sure he's probably hit his empty head somewhere," Draco yawned delicately, avoiding Harry's questioning gaze, "Let's go back to bed, Weasel can find his way home."

Ron growled, but turned and snatched some Floo powder, tossing it vengefully in the fire.

"Ron, don't mispronounce and land up god knows where in your fury."

"I'm not stupid!" Ron yelled and left.

"Yes, you are, Ronald; you are," Harry said to the empty living room, before following Draco back to bed. He'd talk to Ron in the morning, when he wasn't so messed up.

* * *

Ron and Hermione sat in different kitchens, wondering what had gone wrong.

Had they rushed into this marriage and too soon? Had they grown apart in the years? Did they not understand each other well enough?

Yes, they both agreed that all these were the problem. Neither wanted to accept the solution.

Neither of them slept very well at all.

* * *

"So have you made up your mind?"

"I think so." Hermione started to cry.

* * *

"And?"

"It's time we lived apart for a bit, give some space to each other."

Harry nodded, and watched Ron look out the window.

* * *

"It's just that…" Hermione sniffed, and Luna waited.

* * *

"We've been together so long and wanted each other even longer," Ron drank his butterbeer.

* * *

"It's hard to just throw all that away, but the truth is…" Hermione wiped at a tear.

* * *

"We've grown apart, and I think we need to think about what to do."

* * *

"It's better that you haven't had any children. This way, the break is cleaner."

Luna and Harry sipped their tea.


	10. Chapter 10

Of course Hermione got the transfiguration Master's job. It was natural that she impressed even old McGonagall with how much she had practiced over three days.

Two actually, Hermione corrected mentally, she did lose that day fighting and then talking things out with Ron. But Luna had been so wonderful. She even stayed away from running the Quibbler, to make sure that Hermione studied, and didn't waste her time moping.

The strange thing was, she felt nothing so phenomenal that it disrupted her mind. She just felt a little dull, and a little numb. She supposed she would feel worse when she had more time to think about it.

It was official. Ron and she had talked the next afternoon, when both were calm enough to talk without hexing (or slapping).

Hermione would remain with Luna and later on, at Hogwarts, while Ron stayed in their home. Hermione had packed her clothes and books, that Ron helped her shift over to Luna's.

Afterward, they had stood awkwardly, not knowing how to say goodbye. They settled for a hug, while Hermione tried not to cry, and Ron tried to look unaffected.

Neither succeeded.

Hermione threw herself into preparing then, for the test with McGonagall, and afterward, in preparing the syllabus. McGonagall had graciously offered to let her stay over the summer at Hogwarts, and Hermione accepted, thinking that it would be a good place to do extensive research on her little side project as well.

It was tough work, Hermione decided, to keep moving around like a nomad, even if her things were shrunk to miniatures.

Half the time, she worried that she would lose them because they were so small!

Luna and Harry helped her settle into her new quarters. Although she found Harry's quite frequent complaints ("OOH! I broke my nail!", "Aah, my robes got a tear!"…) she was very glad he and Luna were there for her.

Harry seemed not willing to hear anything about Ron, what with him interrupting her whenever she so much so as spoke his name; Hermione wondered if he was annoyed with Ron or her or both.

McGonagall dropped in and set up tea for them in the living room, which was quite finished, except Hermione hated the red and gold curtains and hearth rug. What was it with Gryffindor house people to want everything in red and gold? Or Slytherin people to want everything in silver and green?

Hermione decided she would change the drapes and rug after they all left, not wanting to risk Harry's complaints (he-who-lived-on-Gryffindor-colours). However did Draco put up with that?

Harry and Draco's getting together was somewhat of a shock to them; they knew Harry was bent as a bean pole but Draco? Wasn't there some unwritten rule that Purebloods would be minced like Mutton Korma if they so much so as behaved differently?

Apparently even if it was not as harsh, Hermione had heard that Draco was not longer a preferred pureblood; most people only treated him well because of Harry's affiliation, or because of his money.

It was sad really, but ever since Harry and Ginny broke up, Molly was not so comfortable around him, and so Harry had slowly cut off his visits to the burrow.

So Draco had only Harry. Well Harry had her and Ron, and Ginny (who surprisingly forgave him). Draco didn't seem as inclined to spend time in the trio's company, although he constantly hung-out with them. Hermione suspected that Harry somehow bribed him into it.

Draco wasn't all that arrogant now; it was all his Father's doing. Once Lucius took the option of leaving the country under changed identity, like the muggle witness protection program, in exchange for ratting out the hiding death eaters, Draco pretty much took over the Malfoys' holdings in Britain. He was a keen businessman and had multiplied his holdings since then.

Hermione's thoughts then wandered to whether Harry knew about Draco and Charlie, or if Ron chickened out; probably the latter, considering that Harry seemed as usual. If Harry was upset, it would be like a beacon; one simply couldn't overlook the dark brooding nature of an upset Harry.

Hermione's thoughts were interrupted by McGonagall who asked her how she planned to structure her lessons. Hermione explained that she was thinking it over, after looking through McGonagall's older plans and trying to bring them up to date with current developments.

While they discussed their ideas and experiences, Harry and Luna took their leave, promising to visit very soon.

Eventually, McGonagall came around to asking her about Ron's reaction to her decision.

"Oh my! Really? I am so sorry, my dear. Perhaps it was a little my fault also, having Shanghaied you into the job," she worried.

"It was a good thing, this job," Hermione assured her, "it gave us an opportunity to accept what we had been ignoring for so very long. Besides," she grinned, "it was more like Dumbledore did the Shanghai-ing."

"Aye," McGonagall smiled slightly, "it is hard to resist the old codger. But perhaps this could be settled without a divorce?"

"I don't think so. We talked it over and realised that our marriage had been dead a while now. I guess we rushed into it, what with spirits being high after we won the war and all that. Honestly, I think I'm a little relieved that I can resume the kind of life I like from this point forward."

The Headmistress hummed and nodded, and a little while later, she went back to her work, while Hermione went back to re-decorating.

Winky was overjoyed when she found that Hermione would be at the school for the next year at least. Hermione ate lunch in her rooms, and went back to decorating, and making a list of things she might need, either from the Headmistress or from home.

Home, she thought sadly, was no longer hers. She sagged into the chair when it finally hit her that she was no longer married in the true sense. Her life with Ron for eight years which had been, apart from the consistent fights, a wonderful life. Ron was a good man, if not the best husband, but he was still her best friend, at least she hoped they were still best friends.

It wasn't going to be easy.

So for all that was worth, Hermione wept.


	11. Chapter 11

In the weeks that passed, Hermione spent most of her time reading up on the latest advances in transfiguration and charms, much to the chagrin of Madam Pince, who refused to let her check out the darker books she found as reference.

"Rabid old librarians!" Hermione muttered under her breath as she furiously walked back to her chambers. She could either explain to McGonagall why she needed "Magical signatures and their extraction, " which sounded innocent enough, but it dealt with not finding and identifying the magical signature of a witch or wizard, but with copying it, sort of like polyjuice for the magical signature.

She figured if she could get the concept right, she could reduce the application to just identifying, but for sure, McGonagall would not be pleased. The last thing Hermione needed was her former head of house to be nosy and watchful of her.

Sighing, she realised that what she was about to do would be breaking about 50 school rules, but they wouldn't bother a teacher now, would they?

She carefully transfigured the book into an enameled box, and hoped Winky wouldn't hate her too much. For all that Hermione had fought for the rights for House elves, this was a pretty bad turn of leaf.

"Winky," she whispered, and the elf in question popped into existence.

"Yes Miss?"

"Shh... can you take this box and go straight to my quarters? Leave it on my bed please? "

Winky frowned at her, she probably felt the magic on the book..err..box, and then nodded, disappearing with a pop.

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief, and tried not to look too guilty as she made her way out the library. Madam Pince gave her a slightly suspicious look when she didn't check anything out. Although, Hermione wondered why no one ever used this method to sneak books out of the library. Hermione pondered this question on her way to her chambers.

"Hermione!"

Said person turned around, a bit startled, and saw Professor McGonagall walking quickly towards her.

"Professor?"

"Well, we're colleagues now, so you can call me Minerva."

Hermione smiled, "Still not used to it Prof..err.. Minerva."

"Oh well, follow me please."

Puzzled, Hermione followed the headmistress, who led her into her office, and stopped in front of the Headmaster's portrait.

"Well Albus, I have brought her here, so if you are done with treating me like your personal house-elf, may I get back to my duties?"

Hermione was a bit embarrassed, but McGonagall only huffed when the headmaster chuckled and winked at her.

"I have some work to attend to, the elves will bring tea in a short while, please make yourself comfortable. Albus," she turned back to the headmaster, "I will return soon, so kindly do not get Ms. Granger into more trouble than absolutely necessary."

With that, the headmistress briskly walked to the fireplace and disappeared.

Hermione stood and shuffled her feet.

"Sit down Ms. Granger," Dumbledore gestured to the arm chair opposite his portrait, and Hermione sat down. A tea service set itself on the table, while the teacup hovered in front of her. A moment later, Hermione realised that it was waiting for her to tell it how she wanted her tea.

"Oh! Eh, no milk, lemon and two sugars, please," she watched in fascination as the tea poured itself, the lemon was added and sugar cubes danced and fell into the cup, while a silver spoon stirred on it's own.

Even years after being a witch, Hermione was fascinated by how easily magic made everything seem.

Her quiet observation was broken when Albus coughed to get her attention.

Hermione's tea hovered, and she plucked it out of the air and turned to the headmaster.

"Yes, headmaster?"

"Ah, I was just wondering," he waited for Hermione to sip her tea, "what reason you might have had for sneaking a book out of the library."

He chuckled and twinkled as Hermione choked on the tea and helplessly dabbed at her mouth with a serviette.

"Well," she coughed, embarrassed at being caught out, "you can probably deduce professor?"

"Of course, of course," he beamed, "Why do you need that book?"

"How did you know?"

"Ah well, the secret for being omnipresent, as people have termed me," he leaned in conspiratorially, "is portraits."

"Portraits?" Hermione thought a moment, "Oh, of course, they are everywhere, except the places of personal privacy!"

"I'm surprised you didn't think of it sooner, Ms. Granger," Albus sat back in his chair.

"To be honest, I never really thought about it before."

"Ah well, there is that, and what about my question?"

"Oh, well I was researching this new seal that they have on charms and potions, that sort of attests to purity and power, I think, and I was wondering what made the charm so good, and who markets it."

"Ah well, testing the quality of the quality testing charm?"

Hermione grinned, it was sort of redundant.

"Well, might I suggest something?"

"Of course Professor," Hermione set her teacup down.

"You could try inquiring at the patent and products registration department at the ministry."

Hermione could only say, "Oh!"

It had not once occurred to her, and she was struck by the simplicity of it. It took her a lot to not smack her forehead.

"Happens, Ms. Granger, often we get carried away with our own thoughts to see the answers right in front of our eyes."

Hermione knew that Dumbledore's statement carried a deeper meaning, but her mind was too busy figuring out whom to address the letter to, whether there was a form to fill out, and so on.

"Also, I hope you remember that Arthur is the minister for magic?"

Bollocks! She didn't remember, she wondered if Dumbledore would take the mickey out of her if she accepted it.

Of course not! This was Dumbledore!

"Well of course, Professor. I was just wondering if there was any form or something. I wouldn't want to impose on Mr. Weasley."

So much for trusting Dumbledore on that matter.

"No matter Hermione, I'll talk to Arthur about it, give it a day or two. Meanwhile, I took the liberty of having Winky return the book to the library. I hope you don't mind."

Hermione blushed, "Not at all Professor."

"Well, I believe Minerva is on her way back here by now, perhaps we can take tea again quite soon. I believe you have the portrait of Hope Harper in your living room?"

"SO that's her name? She refused to speak with me."

"Hope's a bit hostile to new comers. She'll speak up soon enough."

But I've been there for weeks! Hermione wanted to protest.

"But of course, some people tend to take longer than just a few weeks to open up now, wouldn't you agree?"

Hermione just knew he was reading her thoughts, but she was rather sure that portraits couldn't use magic literally. But this was again, Dumbledore they were talking about.

It was a bit annoying actually.

Hermione thanked the headmaster and left for her chambers. She had a couple of hours before dinner and she wanted to take a while to rest. Sometimes she wished for a telly to pass the time, some cartoons even.

On second thoughts, she decided to take a long bath. She was rather tired from all the work, albeit self-imposed.

In the bath, she soaked and let all the tension release from her body. She was quite exhausted. Resting her head on the edge of the tub, she thought about how much her life had changed in just a few weeks. She wondered what Ron was doing.

He was probably out drinking with his fellow aurors, she supposed. He usually didn't spend too much time worrying about things. It was what made him oblivious most of the time. But didn't some wise person say that ignorance was bliss?

She sighed and breathed in the scent of lavender and camomile, imitating the muggle aroma therapy. It helped a bit.

She closed her eyes, and slowly drifted off to sleep, dreaming of something familiar, yet too vague to be recognisable.


	12. Chapter 12

The owl came two days later, by which time Hermione was already on tenterhooks, and quite jumpy. School was back in session in less than two weeks, and every day lost was worrisome. She couldn't be expected to freely associate her time after school started; there were classes to teach, papers to grade, and of course, detentions to serve. She expected to give off a few, having been warned about how students often tested the waters with new teachers.

Hermione was infinitely glad that it was too early for a new Weasley generation as of yet. Although she reckoned Teddy Lupin was due next year or so. She didn't worry about Lupins as much as she worried about Weasleys. She doubted anyone worried more about any children than they did about the trademark red haired family.

She was applying finishing touches on the schedules for each year, though she was a week early. The headmistress had only requested that teaches submit their schedules a week ahead of the first day of term. It was then that the large brown eagle owl delivered the sealed envelope to her desk. Pulling out a dish of water and owl treats from her bottom draw, Hermione offered them to the bird, who sniffed suspiciously before tentatively picking up a treat.

Hermione rolled her eyes, and proceeded to break the seal. A small slip of paper fell to the desk, before a larger bunch of papers. The paper was signed by Arthur Weasley, and read:

"I don't know why you needed this information, but here is all that we have on the Paranoid Seal, owners and patent information; Albus said it was important, so I hope you find what you're looking for. By the way, Molly asks after you, although, we are sorry about what happened. You are welcome at the burrow anytime, Hermione, and don't you pay attention to what Molly says."

Hermione smiled and spared a moment to write a sincere thank you note to Mr. Weasley, before she tackled the fat wad of papers. The bird, having eaten it's fill, took the note and left, while she asked for tea from Winky.

The first page had the name of the patent owner, which was curiously listed as "Private" which meant that the information was not available to the general public. She wondered if Arthur had included the private details, since he had the power to access it, and ruffled through the later papers. Of course Arthur had included it, seeing that the request was from Dumbledore himself. The patent was registerd to one Jonathan Morshey Smithe, residing in West Devonshire, and the address of operation was also listed the same, meaning Mr. Smithe ran the business from the same place as his residence; a home industry, if you will.

Hermione found nothing of any particular interest in this little bit of information, although she now had an address. She thought she might just visit the company soon, curiosity be sated.

She went back to reading the details of the patent, which she was sure was not available to anyone except those directly concerned with the department or higher, and thanked the stars that she had contacts. Well, it really was the work of Albus, same difference.

There were no exact details of how the charm was executed, trade secrets of course, but there was a good amount of detail describing the effects and the caliber of the results, which Hermione found impressive. The theory was sound, and the caliber astonishingly high. Whoever Mr. Smithe was, she certainly understood the paranoia. He seemed like a perfectionist, and considering that there were no other listed partners and number of employees listed between 2-5, he certainly must be quite picky.

Hermione's interest was quite peaked. It would be an interesting thing to meet with Mr. Smithe, if he allowed it. Perhaps he would be less inclined to meet with journalists.

That made her stop. Journalists, newspapers, advertisements... the Quibbler!

That's why it had seemed so familiar! There was only one paper that ran ads for the Paranoid Charm, and that was the Quibbler! It was unusual that something that was such a success chose one of the least read papers to proclaim it's virtues, or call for applications. She vaguely recalled Luna telling her about the opportunity, which she probably declined because of the whole Ron affair.

Hermione snorted; she was talking about it as if it were some huge scandal. Pouring herself some more tea, she decided that she would talk to Luna in the morning. She asked to take her dinner in her quarters , while she read through the rest of the papers and made a note of the address, wondering how to get the man to grant a meeting.

She almost dropped her pumpkin juice when a small cough sounded from the living room portrait, above the hearth.

"Professor Dumbledore," she said a bit breathlessly, and smiled nervously. It was a bit annoying sometimes; Hope never spoke so Hermione had forgotten about the portrait.

"Did I startle you Hermione?"

Hermione felt that he sometimes waited just so he could startle her, and beam like that; she smiled and nodded.

"Oh well," he twinkled, not entirely innocently, and gestured to the papers she held, "Arthur sent you those?"

"Oh?" she remembered the papers, "Yes, professor. Thank you so much! This has been most useful. In fact the charm is impressively planned and executed, although I can't say more for lack of details." She paused, and hesitated before adding, "It would be so interesting to meet Mr. Smithe, and learn more."

Dumbledore twinkled and smiled, stroking his beard. "Mr. Smithe is a very private man."

"I suppose, err wait..." she looked up suspiciously, "how do you know Mr. Smithe?"

"Oh, just like that, he was my acquaintance for many years, we grew to be, not exactly friends, but close over time."

Hermione didn't know if portraits could be killed. Maybe if she poured thinner... she suddenly had an image of her laughing maniacally while the portrait's occupant screamed and... she shook herself from these dark thoughts.

Dumbledore seemed to understand that she was miffed, and it was made a little better when he said he's try to see if he could be persuaded to meet with Hermione, even for a short while.

Even if Hermione was grateful and excited, something nagged at her thoughts. This was somehow far too easy; there had to be a catch somewhere.

Dumbledore left a short while later, avoiding any questions about Mr. Smithe. It was rather iffy, and Hermione was now a little wary of her impending possible meeting with Mr. Smithe. It was rather late, and Hermione was tired. She no longer had the unending energy as she did in school, and it was somehow better that she got plenty of sleep most days.

It seemed like she had gained quite a bit of sleep debt in her year of wandering with Harry and Ron, where sleep wouldn't come out of fear, and they had to always be on the watch.

The first night after the war was won, Hermione had not slept at all; she had worried that if she did, she might wake up and find that it had been a dream. Eventually, Harry had cottoned on, and slipped her some dreamless sleep during dinner, where she ate like a zombie, and talked out of a fog.

And then she had slept for nearly two days.

Reflecting on things past, Hermione fell asleep, and dreamed of better things.


	13. Chapter 13

Albus was true to his word. Hermione was scheduled to meet with Mr. Smithe the coming week, three days before start of term. She found the prospect of meeting such an intelligent person both exciting and intimidating.

What if he proclaimed her a fool? What if her questions were stupid? What if she made a complete and utter fool of herself?

She drove Harry batty with her worries; Harry in turn drove Draco batty with Hermione's worries and Draco asked Hermione (Via owl-post of course, no one wanted to face Hermione while saying…) to kindly shut up about it, or she would be getting a head start into proving herself utterly incompetent and star stricken, albeit in a non-interesting way, in his eyes, never mind in the eyes of Mr. Smithe, whatshisface.

Hermione didn't know whether to be amused or insulted when she received the note from Draco, and settled for amused, after imagining how Draco must have looked all the time Harry went on and on, and how insane Harry must have driven him, to cause this note to be sent to her.

Hermione did kindly shut up about it, and instead, did more research on the theory she had read concerning the charm, and made many hundreds of pages of notes on how she could possibly reconstruct it from scratch.

Of course she would try; it was in her nature to be nosy, err… curious.

Thus Hermione spent five days in a state of controlled hysteria; thank Merlin the students weren't here yet. One would pity them, having to face a Hermione in this state of mind, and hair.

Albus watched this in a constant state of amusement from Hope's portrait, having taken to watching Hermione's progress over spreading local gossip, much to the consternation of the other portraits. Albus always had the best versions of everything, thanks to his outrageous imagination. He was, a favourite among the ladies, preference be damned.

Although Albus' mind was a bit pre-occupied, wondering at the ease of the entire episode. It was a bit worrisome that Jonathan, as he knew him, had shown rather unusual compliance. Oh, he had fought tooth and nail, but it was still lesser than he had expected. Perhaps the freedom had mellowed him, so to speak, and reduced his paranoia; or even made him friendly.

Dumbledore snorted at the last part. Friendly indeed! It painted a rather silly picture to have Jonathan play the part of a sociable human. It was absurd. It made him think that Mr. Smithe had something up his sleeve. But, there was nothing Albus could do about it, and so he watched the little ball of hyperactive energy, that was Hermione, drive anyone who she came in contact with, to the nuthouse.

The day before she had to meet Mr. Smithe, Hermione suddenly calmed down. She was normal, and people walked on eggshells around her. It was unusual to see her so calm. Everyone was surprised to see her completely non-hysterical, so naturally, they assumed something was brewing; the calm before the storm theory.

Only Winky and of course Dumbledore were not surprised in the least bit. Minerva therefore had to conclude that Dumbledore had found a way, through bribe or threat, to have Winky keep Hermione dosed with something like a calming potion. Only he had the gall to sink to such levels as drugging a close acquaintance.

She was immensely glad for his lack of morals on occasion, and his deviousness.

* * *

"Are you prepared, Ms. Granger?"

"As prepared as anyone can be."

"Now, listen carefully. The location is un-plottable, therefore, you have to travel by Floo. You will throw in the Floo powder, and mention clearly, 'Oculto'. You will wait till the fire turns from green to blue, signalling that the connection is open. The password will be Verdade."

Hermione repeated the words to Dumbledore till he was satisfied with her pronunciation. She was well aware that if she said the first wrong, she could be lost hopelessly, or if she said the second wrong, she'd end up burning herself in the fire. She filed the words away to figure out the language and meaning later on. They seemed strange and exotic.

Dumbledore stopped her just as she was about to toss in the Floo powder.

"I hope, Ms. Granger, you will be able to fathom the gravity of this meeting. Mr. Smithe is a very private man, and it took me a lot to convince him to this. I only did it because I trust you to be very careful and not tread where you are not invited," he gave her a meaningful look, at which Hermione flushed, and then grew stern. "I will not have you jeopardising my relationship with Jonathan because of something as unimportant as curiosity, do you understand, Ms. Granger?"

Hermione was taken aback at the stern tone, and nodded meekly. Did she, as usual, ask for more than she could handle? She swallowed her fear and tilted her chin up, "You can trust me Sir."

"Very good, Ms. Granger, see that you don't lose it." He gestured for her to go ahead; Hermione drew in a deep breath and stepped into the green flames. "Verdade" she enunciated clearly, and held her breath, ready to leap out of the fire if things went bad. The flames sputtered, and Hermione was scared for a split second, before the flames turned a rich blue, and she was whisked away to somewhere in West Devonshire.

She landed slightly stumbling in a large but comfortably furnished sitting room, mentally making a note to have her fireplace cleaned. She cast some cleaning charms and smoothed her robes and hair, and wondering where the owner had gotten to.

"A few minutes late, but that's alright."

Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin at the voice, and spun around, wand drawn. He stood almost behind her, and she would have said something were she capable of words at that moment.

"Hey, now. It isn't polite to point a wand at your host, is it?" He canted an eyebrow.

"Ummm."

"Do you need to get cleaned up?"

"Err. I'm good thank you."

"AH! She speaks!"

Hermione blushed. And smoothed her robes a little more. A pair of black boots came into view, quite close, she noted, to her sensible pumps. She looked up and … eh... he was quite close to her, and he reached down with a hand...

To dab at her nose with his thumb.

Huh? Hermione was squinting to see his perfectly manicured thumb rub at the tip of her nose.

"There," he breathed, and she realised that his other hand had come to hold her face still, while he had bent a little. Their faces were close enough that she felt his warm minty breath.

And Hermione started, lightly stepping back. "Err, thank you, Mr. Smithe?"

"That's pronounced Smythe, with a y. "

"Oh, err. Sorry."

"Oh, doesn't matter my dear," he smiled, and Hermione was struck.

He was taller than Ron by a couple of inches as she could tell, there was a thin scar running from his forehead to chin on his left side; his long silvery hair was tucked behind his right ear, where a gold ring glittered in the sunlight streaming into the room. His smile had faded into a little quirk of his lips and his blue eyes shone with humour.

He was perfect.

Hermione shook such thoughts from her head. When she had heard about him, she expected an older person, especially if he was Dumbledore's personal friend, or close acquaintance. He was... young and vivacious and …

Stop it Hermione! You are not here to hit on him! Her mind screamed at her.

She managed to get herself in control and smiled politely, apologised for her tardiness, and her rather tongue – tied behaviour. He just laughed it off and asked her to call him Jon, if she didn't mind him using her first name.

He offered her an arm, that she took, a little flushed at his charming demeanour. Jon didn't seem so private as Dumbledore had warned her. Quite the opposite actually! He seemed to enjoy showing her around, and answering her questions, and being an utter gentleman. By the end of a couple of hours, she was floored.

Either Dumbledore and Jon are weird when together, or this wasn't Mr. Smithe. But he was so well versed in the theory of the charm and everything she could throw at him, that she quickly dismissed the latter option.

Dumbledore and Jonathan must have had some sort of falling out, which was the only reason she could think of that explained the two entirely different behaviours. Something wasn't right.

She decided that it was time she pushed her luck just a little. Biting her lip, she hesitated and slowed her steps, which caused him to slow down along. She realised they were still walking arm in arm.

Hermione gently freed her arm and looked him in the eye.

"You are so much more beautiful than your pictures," he smiled a wide smile.

Uh, what pictures?

"Dumbledore showed me a picture so I could recognise you. The old coot didn't tell me you were this brautiful."

Hermione was sure that her face was red as Ron's hair. "Thank you, and I too was pleasantly surprised to see that you were so much younger than I expected."

He laughed that lovely deep laugh again. Really, this was getting too difficult for her to resist. "I'm quite sure Albus would have told you that I was all grumpy and serious."

"Err, something like that."

"Ah well, Albus gets the wrong idea sometimes. I just love that man."

Hermione was not sure how to respond to that. Something was definitely not right here.

After a nice lunch, they retired to the patio where they sipped chilled wine in the hot afternoon. Hermione hadn't had this much fun in ages. She was just about to close her eyes and enjoy the warmth when she heard a beeping noise from his wrist.

A gadget? What in the world?

He glanced at it and grew serious. Seeing Hermione's questioning gaze, he gave a small smile, and explained that a potion of his was ready to be moved on to the next stage.

"It's like a muggle alarm clock. It is tuned to the potion I want to watch over, and when it reaches a certain stage where it needs my attention for the next step, it beeps and lets me know. It's sort of like a programmable charm."

Hermione was astonished. This man spoke as if he was into both muggle as well as wizarding advances. It was truly fascinating!

Although she was quite sad that their time was at an end, she was so excited about meeting such a charming and intelligent person. She was gathering up her notes and things when he requested that the details of what she had learned today not be discussed with anyone but him.

"I understand," Hermione nodded, "You can trust that this will be safe with me."

He kissed the back of her hand, and hesitated.

"Yes?" she asked him.

"I had a really wonderful time with you Hermione."

She wasn't sure where this was headed, "As did I Jon. It's too bad we can't have more time."

"I wouldn't mind having you over another day."

"Err, I'm sorry, but I should tell you, I am still in the process of getting a divorce from my husband of 8 years. I'm not really ready for something this early."

"Oh," he seemed disappointed. Hermione was a little worried that she had overstepped some line.

"Well, you're welcome to drop by anytime. Just let me know a day early. It feels good to talk to someone this knowledgable."

Hermione wondered how many times in the span of a few hours could anyone blush.

Finally, they said goodbye and Hermione went back to her quarters. What a weirdly unexpected surprise Jonathan was! Humming to herself, Hermione went about her quarters, securing the notes in her desk draw, and putting an extra locking charm on it. It was not until she sat down at her desk did she notice the letter waiting for her.

She quickly broke the seal, and saw that it was her divorce papers, finalising the separation. What a way to end a day, she wondered, feeling depressed again as the memories flooded back to her.

She sighed and headed to take a long soak.

Dumbledore watched silently from the portrait. Hermione seemed happy. He stroked his beard and thought. He had expected some reaction from Ms. Granger. He had expected a lot of reaction actually. Instead, she seemed pleased and relaxed, and not in the least bit ruffled.

Something was definitely not right, or, Dumbledore stopped to think.

Had things finally started going right?

It was puzzling indeed.

Dumbledore left for a visit to his old friend, Jonathan.


	14. Chapter 14

"You met her, and she's not outraged, in tears, speechless or otherwise."

"Oh she was speechless Albus, just not for too long."

"And you didn't once say anything hurtful or demeaning."

"No, I was following your orders and being a good little servant of your every whim."

"Now, now, you know it's not like that."

"Of course it's like that. Do this do that, meet him, meet her, be a good host, bow down…"

"Right."

"Indeed."

"Why hasn't she come storming to my portrait or Minerva's office, demanding answers?"

"Because she asked all her questions, and I gave her answers to all of them."

"ALL of them??"

"Whatever she could think of."

"Now that is completely unbelievable."

"You wound me, Albus."

"Oh quit being so melodramatic."

"Me? You're the one being melodramatic; giving that chit of a woman such dire warnings before she came here. Made her utterly suspicious."

"She wouldn't have told you what I had warned her."

"She didn't."

"My word! You read her mind without permission?"

"Oh come on, Dumbledore. Try that with someone else but me. I know you far too well to fall for display of your righteous anger. How many times have you done the same to others?"

Jonathan raised a hand to stall any arguments, "and I will not admit your claim for the greater good. You know as well as anyone what I thought of your need to play God and Master."

"I was merely going to ask you how she took it when she saw you."

"Oh she was baffled of course, but only for a while. Once she gained her bearings, she was once again the vociferous walking questionnaire."

"You talk of it as if it were a bad thing."

Jonathan glared, while the headmaster looked amused. This was interesting, no doubt.

"And she said nothing? I would have expected her to fire off questions and anger you."

"Oh she did fire off questions, a great lot of them even."

"It's unbelievable!"

"Well, believe what you must. I have things to accomplish."

"Now, humour an old man, and tell me…"

"Have I not humoured you enough? Leave me alone, Albus!"

"Calm down, you know this is important."

"It is nothing short of tyranny! I have done all you have asked of me, and we have broken even. Do not ask me to entertain any more school girls who have nothing better to do than gawk all day!"

"Hermione is not a school girl, and hasn't been for a long time, you know that."

"I also know that she and her incompetent husband are divorced, or soon to be, they have no children, and she has not yet obtained her masters, because she was too busy feeding and changing that extra large baby she calls Ronald. Is that quite enough, or shall I go on?"

"She told you all this?"

"She told me some of it, and it doesn't take a genius to piece the story together."

"Ah, that is surprising. You were interested in her personal life?"

"The hell I was! I was just being polite and making conversation, and thanks to you and that girl, I lost half a day's work!"

"Polite? Making conversation?"

"Yes, those are words used in genteel society, or have you grown too old and senile to understand them?"

"Now, now, Jonathan. Hold on a bit. I am 168 years old am I not?"

"How should I know? Besides, you're a portrait for goodness sake; you'll live as long as anyone has a portrait of you, the count being unfortunately high."

Albus chuckled at the distinctly petulant expression on the other man's face. He was just being difficult for the fun of it.

"Perhaps," Albus stroked his long beard, while Jonathan considered a curtain and silencing charm for the portrait, like Mrs. Black at Grimauld.

After a minute, Jonathan lost his patience. "Perhaps, what? Albus," he gritted out.

"Hmm? Oh! I was thinking perhaps you have enjoyed company; her company?"

"Enjoyed? Are you dafter than usual?"

"Ah! Perhaps not."

"If you are quite finished, Headmaster, perhaps," Jonathan stressed on the word, "you should consider leaving me to my duties."

"I suppose I can ask for details about the meeting," Ah! Dumbledore noted with satisfaction; There! That little frisson of worry that ran through the other man, too quickly masked for the unknowing observer. Dumbledore, on the other hand, knew exactly where to look. There was something he was not being told, and damned if he didn't find it out.

"Now she wouldn't accidentally have her fingers crossed when talking to me, now would she?"

Jonathan would have flushed, but only raised an eyebrow, "Accidents happen."

"Ah, of course. Well, I shall now let you attend to your duties." He paused halfway out of his painted stuffed armchair, "it might interest you to know that her divorce has been finalised."

"Now what reason would that have to interest me?"

"Nothing, well, ramblings of an old man I suppose."

The younger man said something under his breath that distinctly sounded like "mad as a hatter, even."

Without so much as a 'Goodnight' Jonathan turned abruptly on his heel and disappeared as fast as his long legs could carry him through the door, into his private lab.

Dumbledore stroked his beard and headed out of the painting. It was too late in the night to bother Hermione, so he decided to take a walk through the castle's paintings, and think over.


	15. Chapter 15

"Ms. Granger," Dumbledore called to the woman at the desk.

Hermione was furiously scribbling away, referring to some pages on and off; so great was her concentration that she didn't realise Dumbledore had called to her many times already.

Sighing, Dumbledore borrowed a book from a friendly portrait, and settled down to reading "1001 ways to tell someone they're incompetent."

The book was rather thin, and Dumbledore finished it quite quickly, quietly chuckling at the more outrageous lines.

"_Perhaps that empty compartment that you call a head ought to be attached to the nearest train; it might be used, in the least, to store coal for the engines." _

Dumbledore was nearly at the end of the book when he heard her call for lunch. Was it that late already?

"Ms. Granger," Dumbledore tried again. This time, Hermione did look up.

"Hello professor," she smiled at him, working a crick out of her wrist, "what can I do for you?"

"Ah, nothing dire, Hermione, I just thought I'd drop in for a chat. I see you are taken with your research."

"Oh yes! This is fascinating stuff, " she gestured to the papers lying all over her desk, "Jonathan gave me quite a bit to think about, and I wanted to finish as much as I could before the students arrived in two days."

"Interesting. Incidentally, I thought I'd ask you how your appointment with Jonathan went. I see you are pleased with the results."

"Jonathan was a dream," at which Dumbledore's shaggy eyebrows rose, and Hermione quickly realised her mistake. "What I mean is," she coloured a little, "he was such an intelligent man, and quite charming too!"

"You speak as if you found him quite…captivating."

"Err…"

"Ah, it's quite alright Hermione, you can tell me," Hermione was sure he was teasing.

"Very well," he continued after Hermione looked everywhere but at him for a minute, "would you humour me, and tell me, did you, perhaps, recognise him from anywhere?"

Hermione frowned and thought for a bit, before shaking her head definitely, "Not that I can recall professor, why do you ask?"

"No reason, I thought you might know him, he was quite, how can I put it, well known at a point in time."

"Definitely no, professor, although…"

"Yes?"

"He did seem oddly familiar, what I mean is, not from memory, but I thought about it and," Hermione paused, searching for the right words, "too good to be true."

"Would you elaborate on that?"

"Well," Hermione took her seat near the fireplace, "he was the exact image of a person, I, eh," she coloured and mumbled, "Like."

"Fascinating, and that struck you as odd then?"

"Not at that moment, but after I thought about it."

"Ah, so you spent a lot of thought on Jonathan."

Hermione was red, she was sure of it, "I spent some time, not a lot."

Dumbledore merely beamed.

"Anyway," Hermione spoke, "Although his features were a bit flawed physically, his mind was perfect."

Dumbledore was pensive, and Hermione wondered where this was leading. On voicing out her thoughts, she did feel that Jonathan was too much of a dream to be true. Intelligent, charming and distinctly hot.

"Forgive me, Hermione, I must take your leave now," Dumbledore gathered the book he was reading and called for an owl to deliver it to its owner. Hermione was fascinated with how Portraits had their own world that the living had windows to, albeit, not windows too deep. She made a mental note to read up on it later.

Once the book was on it's way back to the owner, Dumbledore smiled, "I'm sure he wouldn't mind another meeting if you need it."

"Oh! He was very gracious, and was happy to invite me over anytime, provided I gave him a day's notice."

Now why would Hermione become awkward and embarrassed in simply mentioning that Jonathan was happy to entertain her again, unless…

Dumbledore stroked his beard and saved the thought for ammunition at a later time.

Someone was going to be very disconcerted, quite soon.

----------------------

"Tell me, what you used," Dumbledore tried again, and again.

"I didn't use anything! Now leave me alone!"

"You had to have done SOMETHING, there would be no other reason she would be that way."

"Stop it you.. Just leave it alone. I had no wish to let her see me other than how she would have."

"There are so many meanings to that sentence."

"Of course there are," anger seethed, "It's the English language, much like most other languages, words define meaning by context. Surely you knew that," a sneer surfaced.

"Come, come; you think me a fool."

"Must I justify that?"

"Please, if it nothing you used on yourself, what have you used on her? It might have side-effects!"

"Of course not!"

"You don't know that!"

"I absolutely do!" Jonathan exploded, "Never has it affected a healthy being is any way other than intended."

"So you admit you used something on her. What?"

"This is going to be a long night."

"You do not know the effect on pregnant women."

"I, what??" Panic swelled, "really?"

"You know the effects?"

"No you old fool, is she really?" Jonathan pointed somewhere near his midsection.

"What have you used?"

"No potion, a spell. Have there been any effects? What are they?" Jonathan's mind raced at the implications. Perhaps there was nothing to worry about?

"What spell? Mind altering? You have to tell me," Dumbledore pushed.

The younger man sighed, and pushed a silver strand behind his ear, "Alright, I used the Mirror Mind spell," he deflated, "I didn't want her to see me as I am, is she alright?"

"Oh Ms. Granger is fine," Dumbledore tried to remember the spell.

"Albus, what effects? How many months is she along, not more than 4 months, she had no noticeable swell.

"Oh?" Dumbledore hummed, "She isn't."

"WHAT?"

"You needn't worry, she isn't pregnant."

"YOU LYING OLD COOT!"

"Now, it was not a lie, I never said she was pregnant, I only said you didn't know what effect it had on pregnant women."

Jonathan wondered whether he should burn the portrait or rip it apart to shreds, or scrape off the pain with his bare nails till every last inch of the lying bastard was gone.

"Err," Dumbledore saw the rage cloud the other man's face, how his hands trembled and bunched into fists. Perhaps it was a bit over the line, but it was true, he didn't say Hermione was pregnant.

Apparently Jonathan didn't care, so Dumbledore gathered his robes, and fled.


	16. Chapter 16

Hermione walked along the road to Hogsmeade, which was strangely deserted. The sky was overcast and rain threatened in a while. She wondered what she was doing out in such weather.

Belatedly, the chill hit her, and she realised she had forgotten to wear a heavy coat. But she needed to go to the bookstore; perhaps she would apparate back to the gates once she had the book she needed.

Hang on a tick… what book?

"Don't you remember? You were looking for a book of secrets."

"Ron?" He stood by the tree, in his old robes, pale and sickly.

"Ron! What happened to you? You look terrible!"

He didn't say a thing, but only looked somewhere beyond her head, into the distance, as if remembering something. It was as if he didn't hear her at all.

"She always wanted the book of secrets," he spoke as if she weren't there, "the secrets to everything. Doesn't she know? It's a secret because it was never meant to be known!"

"But Granger never learns, not the lessons that are important in life, she doesn't."

"Draco? What the hell?"

"She's a tough nut to crack, that one," he blew on his palm, and tiny sparkles fell from his fingers, "she never learns."

"That's not true! I have learned a lot!"

Hang on, what was he doing here? Even if it is a dream, what does it mean?

"It means, you silly know-it-all, that they have something to tell you."

That voice! She would never forget it as long as she lived, in a body or paint; it drove her to think strange thoughts.

"Professor Snape!"

"You with your steady stream of book knowledge, and all the learning power that you claim, still fail at this… simple task?"

There! Just off the road ahead, a desk and table, where he sat with a potion vial steaming in his hand, and a quivering younger self in front of him.

He was looking straight at her, with an intense gaze, and slight sneer. Hermione had some very, very strange thoughts indeed. She coloured, and his sneer turned into a wicked smile.

"See something you… like?"

"Erm…" Hermione would have run, but her feet had been rooted to the spot by his gaze.

"What are they saying?"

"I don't know! It's not true!"

"Dreams do not lie, Granger, or haven't you learned that from your silly book?"

"What book is that?"

"The book of secrets, fool! Read it!"

"I don't have the book!"

"Don't lie to me!"

"I'M NOT LYING! I DON'T HAVE THE BOOK OF SECRETS!"

He laughed, a rich deep laugh, like dark chocolate, like… someone she had heard before.

"I've never heard you laugh? Is that how you laugh?"

"How should I know? It's your dream."

"But I've heard it before!"

"Then why are you asking me?"

"Help me, please!"

"Only you can do that. I'm dead, remember?"

"Where do the dead go Hermione?"

"Professor Dumbledore! Albus! Snape is …" she paused to find he was gone.

"Professor Snape, Hermione."

"What is going on Professor? Help me."

"Read the book Hermione," he sat on the ground and played a game of gob stones.

Hermione sat down near him, not knowing what else to do. She picked up a stone… only to throw it down in horror.

"Professor! These are not stones, they're tiny heads!" and indeed, there were heads of everyone she knew, even her own!

"What are you doing?" She screamed and stood, backing away.

Dumbledore only twinkled and touched a few heads, and they disappeared with a pop. It was clear what she was dreaming, Dumbledore was playing his games, and it usually involved lives.

Hermione was sickened, Dumbledore only hummed, "All for the best, all for the greater good."

"You don't know that!"

"But of course I don't. I'm playing a game."

"He is, 'Mione"

"Harry!" She threw herself into his arms, "I'm so glad you're here. I'm scared Harry!"

"It's nothing to be scared of, Hermione," he hugged her, and she sobbed. "I can't wake up, Harry, help me."

"You can't wake up till you answer the question, Hermione."

"What question?" She asked into his shirt.

"What did Dumbledore ask you?"

"What?" she sniffed and pulled out of his embrace. Harry looked at her, and waited.

Hermione remembered, "He asked me where the dead went."

"Answer it."

"I don't know the answer. I want to wake up. Help me!"

"Read the book."

"Not you too! I don't have a book of secrets, please, tell me where I can find one?"

"There is no book of secrets. If there was, there wouldn't be secrets anymore, now would there?"

"Then why is everyone asking me to read it?"

"Because everyone is only a figment of your dream, Hermione, You are asking yourself to read the book of secrets, even when you don't have one."

"That doesn't make sense! Why would I want to try and read a book that doesn't even exist?"

"Because you don't know that it doesn't exist."

"What? Harry, this is really confusing!"

"I can't tell you any more." He faded a little, "walk on, Hermione."

"Wait!" But he was gone. "Wake up! Wake up!" she cried, but nothing happened, she was still on the road.

She walked on, as Harry told her to do, and she came to a giant mirror.

She expected to see her image in it, but she saw Jonathan's face.

"What?" she asked herself, "Why would I see him in a mirror? Do I see myself in him or him in myself?"

"Neither," it was Draco again. He stood behind her and looked in.

"I see my family, whole again. Father, Mother, Harry and Me."

Hermione understood. It was the mirror of Erised.

Draco desired that his family be whole again? That was incredibly sensitive of him.

"You see," he spoke in her ear, "not all mirrors show you what you expect to see."

She nodded, and reached out to touch it.

Draco caught her hand before she did, and Hermione turned slightly to see him smiling.

"Wait," he told her, and Hermione turned back to the mirror.

"What are we waiting for?" She whispered, and Draco pointed with both their hands.

"Watch."

The mirror spun and she saw that both sides were silvered. The other side had a faceless man.

As the mirror spun faster, and it dawned on her. The face of Jonathan soon was superimposed by the faceless entity, till all she could see was the smooth mask of the faceless. Even the hair changed from silver to grey to black and back again.

She saw that near the bottom of the mirror, a bird was born from an egg, and grew old and died, and went back to egg again, in a seemingly endless cycle.

"We saw that in the veil, at the Ministry," she whispered, and realised Draco was no longer holding her. She looked around, to find him walking away.

"See, don't only look," he threw over his shoulder, and disappeared, saying "Where do the dead go?"

"Where do the dead go?" she spoke out loud. No one came, and she was alone with the spinning mirror.

It came to her after a while. "The dead go into everything, and nothing, and since nothing is also a part of everything, they go into life, so they are reborn in everything that is being born, and die with everything that is dying. It's an endless cycle."

"The dead don't go anywhere because they never really die. They are reborn!"

"Clever little know-it-all," that dark voice said.

Hermione woke with a start. The dead were reborn, and Jonathan was reborn from somebody. She had a sneaking suspicion of whom.

She wrapped the sheet around herself and rushed to Hope's portrait.

"Professor Dumbledore!" she called out.

The man in question came to the portrait a few minutes later. "Ms. Granger, I have been expecting you. Granted, earlier than this, but you're here."

"I'm sure you have," she bit out, "Who is Jonathan Morshey Smithe?"

"I believe you know the answer already."

"That's impossible. I saw him die myself!"

Not waiting for a response, she threw in some Floo powder into the fire and repeated the procedure from earlier.

She stumbled into the living room, casting soot and ashes everywhere.

"Finally figured it out, have you?"

One very alive Severus Snape stood at the door. The last thing that Hermione remembered was looking into eyes as black as the night, before all went dark.


	17. Chapter 17

"Should we wake her up?"

"It's still early Jonathan, err… Severus."

"Gee, you think? The woman crash landed in my home at 4 in the morning. Of course it's still early."

"Keep your voice down, you'll wake her up."

"I will wake her up, if you don't stop behaving like I care!"

"Don't bother, I'm awake."

"Decided to join the living have you?"

"Ha-bloody-har."

"My, my, such language; Now," Jonathan, err, Snape's voice was cold, "explain to me why you were trespassing and scattering dirt through my living room, at such an unearthly hour, so I might consider leaving you un-hexed."

But Hermione was not exactly paying attention. She was staring at him and moving closer.

"Stop, or I will hex you."

"Your hair…"

"Are you surprised I have hair or are you thinking of pulling it out? Perhaps you are wondering why it is not as messy and bushy as yours?"

Hermione stopped and glared. Her hair was not SO bushy.

"I was considering just asking you what happened, but now I think I'll pull it out if I can."

"Right, and I would maybe sit here and watch you?"

Hermione was standing in the living room of her former professor, who was supposed to be dead, and they were arguing like an old couple.

She collapsed laughing onto the nearest chair.

That drew surprise and a moment later, anger onto Snape's face.

"You think it's funny do you? I think I Will give you something to remember me by before I throw you out of my home."

"No," Hermione took a minute to compose herself, "the whole situation is so extraordinary!"

"I would think nothing extraordinary of this. You, a nosy little schoolgirl digging her nose into business that shouldn't concern you; Rather ordinary for someone like you."

"Don't you ever speak without insulting?"

"Not to those who are undeserving of it."

"Honestly! You were dead!"

"Then you should be very afraid. How can you be sure I am not one of the creatures of the un-dead?"

"Inferi are not exactly capable of intelligent conversation, let alone sarcasm, and vampires can't walk in the sunlight, as you did the other day."

"Well, I suppose I must correct you, for the sake of sounding smug," he had a put upon expression, "Inferi can be very well preserved, and be under the control of the Imperius, and therefore be commanded to be intelligent, and just because idiotic muggles say vampires cannot walk in sunlight or can be chased with garlic and stakes, doesn't make it true."

"Not entirely accurate, but I'll let it pass, for the sake of sounding indulgent."

"Not entirely… why you little…"

"Children, children! Will you both kindly shut it?"

"Albus! You're the one to talk! Spoiling my peace with this woman."

"I'm spoiling? You have not left my thoughts either as Jonathan or yourself, for weeks on end! It is you who is the intruder!"

"Why, Ms. Granger, it seems you might be sparing a great deal of thought on me. Could you have a bit of a crush on your nasty greasy potions' master? Harbouring secret desires are you?"

Hermione sputtered, "I will not stand here being insulted by you!"

"Then next time," Snape's voice was a hiss, "Mind your own bloody business, and stay out of my House!"

"Oh the nerve!" Hermione dusted her already sooty clothes just a little more on the carpet and furniture closest to her, and stormed to the Floo.

"WILL YOU TWO SHUT UP! No one will leave here at this time!"

Hermione flushed in embarrassment and Snape merely glowered at the portrait. The meddling bastard.

"Now, Severus, you invited her to your home anytime she wanted, so this is not trespassing. Literally."

"And YOU!" Dumbledore cut off Hermione's triumphant 'HA! So there!'

"You, Ms. Granger, were the one who desired the meeting in the first place, so both of you brought this on yourselves. Deal with it!"

Snape's expression was now only petulant, having noted the truth, and Hermione was now a little apologetic.

"I'm sorry I came here un-announced," she turned to Snape.

"I'm sorry I invited you here."

"What? Albus!"

"Telling on me? Very grown up Granger."

"Well you certainly look very adult, pouting like an infant."

The both glowered at each other.

Albus sighed and sat down. It was going to be a long night, rather, long day.

"Do sit down, the both of you. Severus call for tea, would you?"

"I am not your servant anymore Albus."

"Oh stop it. I'm tired of this. You two can settle this like adults, or I can bring in Minerva," they stared at him in abject fear, "Maybe Molly?" They stared at him in horror.

"I'll call for tea."

"And I'll just sit here in my pyjamas, waiting for said tea."

"Good." It helped to put the fear of such women in these two. Severus would hate Molly's tears and smothering hugs and Hermione was still not through with the ear twisting from Molly; and neither of them wanted Minerva set them straight. She was a tough Scotswoman. You always feared a Scotswoman.

It was the perfect threat.

Well, Dumbledore had managed the first step, and they said the first step was hardest. It was going to be a long night, and Hermione had to be there for the opening feast tomorrow night.

The two of them had resorted to decidedly less hostility, seeing that neither of them had had a good night's rest. The sun was going to rise in a little while.

Tea and hot buttery scones had made the two content, and less murderous. Dumbledore decided it was time to talk.

"Severus," I know this is rather hard for you, but I think it would be for the best if you explained everything to her.

"Her? Whatever for? All she would help me with is my demise," he glared at the glowering woman, "from over-exposure to annoying and pointless questions."

"You didn't seem to mind at all the other day!"

"I was only being who you wanted me to be, doesn't mean I personally enjoyed it."

"How did you manage it anyway? Did you extend the life of polyjuice? Or perhaps you used a long lasting glamour. If it was a glamour, it was a bloody good one."

"See Albus, she can kill with pointless questions."

"How is it pointless?"

"To me, they are. Since I already know how I did it."

"Unfair! I was the victim!"

"Victim my arse! I showed you the best time you've had in months, I'm sure!"

"How can you be so sure? Maybe I've been having a better one outside."

"Right, and house elves are rebelling as we speak. You are the bloody know-it-all who drives everyone away with your self proclaimed intelligence and of course! You're intolerable with your questions and your 'Honestly! Don't you read!' lines."

"Don't call me a know-it-all!"

"Don't pretend to be one!"

"I'm not pretending to be anything!"

"Your whole self is a pretence!"

"Shut up Snape! You're the one to talk!"

"I pretended to save the bloody Wizarding world from destruction!"

"That you helped start in the first place! If it wasn't for you, Lily and James Potter would still be alive!"

Hermione slapped a hand across her mouth, and looked at Dumbledore. He shook his head and left. She was on her own now.

Snape had gone white with fury. Hermione wanted to take back her words. She wanted to say "Look what you made me do!"

She shut her mouth and waited.

Snape had bunched his fist, and the part of his hair that had turned silver, had a strange bluish glow. She wondered if she could make a run for it, but she was Gryffindor for a reason: mulish (and often foolish) courage.

"I'm sorry!" she whispered into the intolerable silence, "I should have never said that!"

"Get out, Ms. Granger."

"What?"

"Get. Out. Leave. Now!" Hermione sniffed and held back tears.

"OUT!"

Hermione fled.


	18. Chapter 18

"Stupid, stupid, Stupid!" Hermione muttered furiously, pacing the rug in front of the dimmed fire. The room was painted in shadows, and Hermione half wished she'd wake up and forget everything like a bad dream.

No more Jonathan, Snape or stupidity on her part.

Arrgh! How could she have been so heartless? Well, he'd been prickly too, but she should have known that was just how he was. Prickly as a ruddy cactus plant, but it was not like her to be so coldly hurtful.

And she knew that Snape had loved Lily more than she would ever love anything or anyone. The man had sacrificed his life to make up for one mistake, one whose results were twisted and warped by a madman, so that was not his fault entirely.

And it was not the kind of mistake even close to some of which Dumbledore had made, just that Dumbledore never wore a mark on his arm to classify his mistakes to be for the greater good.

She didn't know how to approach this situation, and she wanted to make it alright again, or at least repair it to some extent. She had been somewhat relieved when Snape had (supposedly) died that night, but that was before she found out the true nature of Dumbledore's manipulations.

Even now she didn't realise the full extent of his grand scheme of things, but it was enough to make her regard Snape's death as close to neutral as she could. She had killed on the field; what made her any less of a murderer than any of the Death Eaters? What made Dumbledore's life any more precious than those she had taken?

That was the big realisation for her all those years ago. But she had brought it to terms: It was a war, they all played their parts, it was survival, and here she was.

She wanted to apologise, but she couldn't get in there; she was half sure Snape had blocked the Floo, and he would no doubt hex her six ways into sunday if she made an appearance anyway.

She sent him an owl, which returned, singed and worse for the wear, and eager to rip her eyes out. Hermione barely escaped.

She sent a patronus, and then another, and then another. It became a steady stream of patronuses, almost at regular intervals.

Then it came, some sort of response. The flames turned green, and a small piece of paper was thrown out with a "Ptooi!"

Even the letter was thrown out with irritated manner.

"Stop sending those infernal patronuses. I'm over run with otters who seem to share the same amount of intolerable energy as it's conjurer."

"Then talk to me, please. Let me apologise. I'm really sorry."

The owl came back non-singed this time. "There's nothing to talk about."

"I disagree," she tapped the quill to erase it, "I think we should, please, let me talk to you."

The owl came back with no reply. Hermione felt depressed, she didn't have the energy to make more patronuses, and the feast was hours away.

She slumped down in the armchair close to the fire. She should really draw the curtains, and forget that the whole thing happened. It was futile.

She almost missed the other scrap of paper that flitted in with a non-irritated manner.

"The password is Vivir," read the paper. Hermione was overjoyed, but first she curbed her enthusiasm. He would as well throw her out after the first word of apology she spoke.

And of course he'd throw her out on the first question he thought pointless, which was pretty much everything she asked.

Hermione showered quickly, donned a decent robe, and bringing her hair into some sort of order, she decided that Snape would not let her hear the end of it if she was too eager.

So she answered some un-answered mail first, called Minerva to assure her that she'd be at the feast, and yes, she would be happy to sit by her side at the table, and will be out for the day. She lied about meeting Harry for some reason, and made to leave. It wouldn't do to be too late either.

Snape was dressed and reading some notes when she finally made it through. He looked up, and Hermione noticed a pair of reading glasses resting on his enormous nose.

It seemed odd to see him so... normal. Disturbing actually, a bit, but she didn't back down now. She stood and waited.

"Well, have a seat if you must. You certainly took your time in coming here. Now say what you want to say, and leave me be."

"I'm sorry."

"Yes, yes, you said that already, is there nothing else?" he sneered.

Hermione was getting tired of his attitude, but bit her lip. "I shouldn't have said those things," she looked up to see him staring blankly at her, "But you said hurtful things too!"

"I do not wish to dwell on what I said, usually," he set the papers down to stand up, "what you said was immaterial, seeing that I will never have to see you again. You have had your time and said your piece, now leave me be."

He turned to leave, and stopped, looking over his shoulder. "My existence will remain a secret, and if I find that you have spoken one word, you will not be spared, neither," he turned a little more so Hermione could see black flashing eyes, "will the person you have divulged to."

Hermione gulped, and he continued, "I always keep my promises, Granger, remember that."

"But what of your invitation to see me again the other afternoon?"

"I meant nothing by it, it was that man who made the promise, not I."

"I need to know how you managed it; you owe me that much!"

"I owe you nothing!"

Hermione took a deep breath; they couldn't fight again, "Professor, I really need to know. Please!"

"Why Ms. Granger, miss him already do you?"

"You could say that, but I wouldn't count on it."

"Then why do you need to know? Read about it, if you need to know."

"I have no time for that, and it would be rather useful if it came from who cast it."

"Ms. Granger, you will not let sleeping dogs lie, will you?"

"Not if I can help it. And," she hesitated, "I want to know what happened to your hair."

"I decided to get into fashionable state, visited a muggle hairdresser who wore a multi-coloured shirt."

"Really?"

"Of course not!"

"Ah, of course."

"Now leave, I'll owl you next when I have time to spare for your incessant questions."

Hermione muttered under her breath, "as Jonathan would be nice."

"You will meet me, and only me. Are you ready for that?"

Hermione supposed it was all for science. "I am."

"Fine then. I trust you know the way out. I have work to do."

And with a flurry of robes, he was gone.

"Well, that went well," Hermione turned to leave, throwing one last glance over her shoulder to the door Snape had disappeared through.

It was enough, for now.


	19. Chapter 19

The opening feast was as usual, at it's best, and each year the elves outdid themselves. They went on a full alert after having spent the entire summer cooking and cleaning for a comparatively empty castle. One would think they would be relieved when summer came, like all the occupants of the castle, but no; they tended to feel depressed and uncared for when not being under huge work loads.

Hermione was yet to understand why, but had abandoned her S.P.E.W efforts when Draco had, in extremely patronising tones, taught her the ideas in the heads of elves. They were, in his opinion, partially demented; why else would such a creature of pure power, far greater than humans, cower in fear and irrationally iron their hands, when they could much easily flatten their masters?

Initially, Hermione had, in her usual enthusiasm and naiveté, argued till he brought up a point she had no answers to: Why then, did they reject her extremely badly knitted scarves, hats and jumpers, if they were so in need of being rescued?

He also commented that he was disappointed in her unusual lack of partial competence.

Hermione wondered why it was, that Slytherins would never pay a compliment without tinging it with insult?

After the usual opening speech, that Minerva kept short and precise, a brief introduction about her was presented, and she waved on cue. Apparently, she was as much a hero as Harry was, and much whispering and star-struck gazes (she noted with a cringe) had ensued since her presence was duly noted at the table by arriving students.

The sorting was interesting, and she was surprised at the short but terse message that the hat sang about how houses were by abilities, not light or dark, and most certainly not by who you truly were. There were noticeably fewer Slytherins at the far table, and Hermione wondered why. Seeming to notice her line of gaze, Minerva explained to her that since the war, a lot of the Slytherin families involved with the Dark Lord, or families of Death Eaters who had enough money and connections left, had moved out of the country. It was almost like decimating the population. The remaining few families who could afford to send their children to school did, and this explained the fewer students in the past years.

Initially the ministry, before Arthur took over, in it's usual idiocy, had suggested that they do-away with the house of Slytherin, but Minerva and the order had certainly disabused them of the idea soon enough. They couldn't just ignore one of the founder's houses!

Hermione's face went through a series of emotions ranging exasperation, wariness, sympathy and even horror throughout Minerva's explanation. Such incompetence on the part of the Ministry! She was infinitely glad someone as fair (although decidedly eccentric) as Arthur was now in charge, armed with the help of the remaining Order members with a head for politics.

Some of the Death Eater families were even granted clemency, when their claims of being forced into the service of Voldemort, through fear, blackmail or otherwise, held true under thorough investigation. Many families were very grateful for the leniency; They even formed a sort of Geneva Code for prisoners, so that arrogant or otherwise prejudiced Aurors would not have the opportunity of treating their charges differently.

Although Ron admitted to the occasional unnecessary curse that hurt some of the more nasty DEs. It had horrified her then, and it did so now. She was never inclined to stoop to the level of childish revenge.

_Until recently, I suppose, _a small inconvenient part of her brain remembered her arguments with Snape and how her childish anger had hurt the other man immeasurably.

"You seem quite preoccupied, Hermione," the headmistress offered, gazing at her intently, but not unkindly.

"Just the usual," Hermione replied with a small smile, "It's such a big change for me."

"Hmm," Minerva inclined her head in agreement, "You do seem to be doing very well so far, handling so many things."

"Thank you."

Hermione went back to picking at her food while Minerva excused herself to take care of some matters.

Filch was long gone now, and so was Mrs. Norris. Pomona had told her that the cat didn't live much longer once her keeper hadn't returned. It was a known fact that loyal pets would be so bound to their masters, it was rather heart breaking.

Hermione sniffed a little and remembered Crookshanks. He had reminded her very much of the muggle cartoon Garfield, and had been her confidant and friend when she couldn't talk to anyone else. Being half Kneazle, he had sometimes protected her too. She missed him terribly sometimes, but it had been a long time since he had up and disappeared. She had eventually gotten over it, although she never replaced him with another pet. That seemed, somehow, disrespectful to Crookshanks' memory.

Forcing herself to eat a decent amount, she sat a little longer, watching the Great Hall slowly empty, sipping her tea a little. Victor had found it strange to drink tea after dinner, as was the usual habit in England.

"We drink a good measure of vodka," he had told her once in his thick Bulgarian accent, "Why would one want to drink tea before sleep?"

"Well, it's just a custom, not necessarily an unbreakable one," she had answered. Victor's only response was a shrug.

As she had once told Harry, Victor was not the one for conversation. He was more of a "physical" being; And Harry had related to her that Moody(as they had known Crouch Jr. then) had told her Victor's head was most probably filled with sawdust. She was inclined to agree.

Oh well, she thought, pushing back from the table; it had been a very interesting series of events and she was tired. Best get to bed early. It wouldn't do to have the new Professor fall face down into her porridge in the morning.

She was relieved to find Dumbledore noticeably absent from her quarters, and prepared for bed. It was going to be a new experience tomorrow, and she needed all her strength for it. Hermione snuggled into the covers and fell fast asleep, not noticing the sealed letter waiting for her on her desk.


	20. Chapter 20

"Have you not exacted more than answers from me, Ms. Granger? The only thing left to give you is my life."

Were it another situation, Hermione would have smiled. It was quite romantic the way he put it. Instead, she settled for a slight curl of her lips, not entirely a smile.

"I did have more questions, Professor, but I could come back another day?"

"Another... Absolutely not! I have no more time to spare for you! We shall finish this, and be done forever." He glared down at her.

Hermione didn't say anything, but bit her lip.

"Oh out with it! I know you're dying to say something."

"Well, I was hoping..."

"What?" he snapped a few moments after she hesitated.

"I would be able to say things better if you weren't snapping at me all the time!"

"You are trespassing my peace, Granger, I have every right to snap at you!"

"Why do you always want to fight with me?"

"I have want for no such thing! I want the peace of oblivion back! If it wasn't for that meddlesome bastard, I would have never lost it!"

"Dumbledore merely suggested it, you didn't have to agree!"

"Would you have left it alone then? I very much doubt it! You with your utter nosy nature would find a way to stalk me and get your bloody answers! You just will never give up, even if it means ruining other people's privacy!"

"I don't... I didn't think..."

"Well that's a first!" He sneered at her.

"I..."

"That's exactly it, isn't it Granger?" he hissed, "All you ever think about is what you want and what you need, and in most cases, it's your obsessive want and need to know everything."

He was standing close to her now, she noticed, a little scared. He bent down near her ear, "Tell me, do you wish to know everything about me?"

She nodded slightly, not sure why she did it, maybe she was just too scared to think. But on second thoughts, she realised she DID want to know everything about snape. It scared her that she could be so bold.

"Yes," she whispered, while he drew back to his full height and Hermione had to crane her neck slightly.

He only stared down at her, his sneer in place, and stepped back.

"The attempt to know everything about me is futile. I suggest you not try. Now leave me," he commanded, turning to leave.

"Wait! You didn't let me finish!"

He said nothing, but didn't move further away, meaning he was waiting for her to say something.

"I need to get my Master in transfiguration, and I was hoping to get one in charms, potions and defence too."

"And this concerns me, how?" he threw over his shoulder in irritated tone.

"Well... I was thinking, that is, hoping you could tutor me in those?"

He turned and fixed her with an incredulous glare. "What makes you think I am in the least bit interested in doing that?" His eyebrow shot up, "Hmmm?"

"Well, I could help you with your research, and be your assistant in the business, gopher for you, so to speak, in exchange."

He seemed to think it over, and murmured, "Have my peace disturbed for a long time in order to have my peace disturbed for a longer time," he made a show of tapping his chin, "now that is a difficult choice to make, or..." She cringed at the sly smile on his face, "I could say no, throw you out and ward my Floo."

"You could, but I don't suppose I could retaliate by letting slip that you are still alive."

"Are you," he stepped close to her again, "threatening me, Ms. Granger?" he said in a silky voice, and she told herself that the small shiver was from fear.

"Of course not, professor, I couldn't think about doing such a thing."

"Is that right?" he considered her with an intense look that clearly showed his disbelief.

She only nodded, not trusting her voice to speak.

"Perhaps, but I'm sure that Dumbledore would be, how can I put it mildly," he thought for a minute, "just dying to ask someone who did that, why they did it, now, wouldn't he?"

Damn, she hadn't thought of that. She didn't say anything but stared defiantly (although scared) into his fathomless eyes. She could just stand here forever...

"Never threaten if you cannot carry through, Ms. Granger," she could hear the amusement colouring his warning. She felt a fool for even trying.

"Now, get out."

Hermione cursed, gathered her notes, and left.

There would be use for her, he thought. He could concentrate on his newer works if he left the research and the blasted documenting of all his notes, that his newly fired assistant was incapable of putting in the kind of order he wanted. Perhaps he could give her a chance; On the strictest terms of non-babbling that he demanded of course. The woman could become a nuisance.

He hadn't really meant the things he said about her lack of propriety and privacy, but there was no need for her to feel otherwise. These blasted Gryffindors would take the whole nine yards if offered an inch.

Albus was the prime example.

He sighed; he needed a gopher so to speak, he was already working on too many things, for lack of a competent and coherent assistance, and the Granger girl was not bad, as he put it.

Just too vociferous.

Perhaps there was hope for her yet. He walked to his lab to check on the newest potion being re-engineered by his charms; he was quite surprised at himself, he always thought he'd be making potions not … breaking them apart. But it was interesting work, and it satisfied him to rip apart some people's notions of how perfect their potions were.

Only the best survived his tests, and his reviews would either help sales or make the manufacturers bust. It helped people choose the best potions so they wouldn't have to worry about undue side effects. It was not exactly his intentions to help raise the cost, but some of the clients would return to him till they got his approval, and mark up the potions a little.

And of course his services were not cheap. It took a hell of a long time to finalise the formulas to build the charm, and almost the same amount of time to perfect the charm itself. Contrary to popular belief, he was neither incapable of mastering other fields, nor was he obsessed with potions. He was merely a master at potions, and of course many other subjects like Defense against the Dark Arts (not to mention the Dark Arts themselves), Arithmancy and charms. He was not all that interested in Transfiguration, but was adequate at it.

He had devoted his entire life to learning and spying, and now he was happily in control of the kind of work he did, or whom he favoured; he certainly didn't need to pretend that he liked people now. Once the Paranoid Seal (Name suggested by Albus, reasons obvious) gained credulity, he was at a liberty to choose clients, or to be an absolute bastard to people who deserved it. He was a potions' critic, and he, as per his nature, took his job with utmost seriousness. Those who thought they could just buy his seal were sorely mistaken, and people realised that after he literally reduced one product to ashes with his caustic words in the paper.

He was a bastard to most people anyway.

With these thoughts, he noted that the potion was surviving fairly well so far. It was the client's 12th trial. He would tell them not to waste any more money after this trial. He had no time, even if they paid extra, to deal with this level of ineptness.

He decided that he would indeed give the Granger woman a chance to prove her mettle. Or throw her out again, whatever the case.

Which meant that she would be curious about him, about his past, about everything under the sun that she thought was relevant to him. He would have to face that to some extent.

Or he could always curse her into silence. He was quite tempted with the latter choice.

He wrote a short, terse note, telling her to be in his living room Saturday morning, nine am sharp. Any other plans would either wait, or she would lose this opportunity.

He paused, then added at the end of the note, "If you ever step out of line again, Ms. Granger, you can be assured of not having the trouble of remembering anything at all about what has happened these past few days. And do learn to shut up."

He curled his lips a little and called the owl he used for personal deliveries.

"Take this to the insufferable Ms. Granger at Hogwarts," he instructed his majestic black eagle owl, "And do not bother to wait for a reply, Artemis," he stroked the bird gently on the head, and it responded with a hoot and friendly nip at his fingers. "I hope, Artemis, this will not cause either of us undue stress," he confided in the bird, who hooted and cocked it's head to one side, as if asking him to clarify.

"Perhaps Ms. Granger might turn useful to us, after all," he sent the great bird away on it's errand, and went back to his desk. The applications had piled and he had to sort through them to pick out his next commissioning clients. He would be glad to rid himself of the work involved, as he was sure Granger would leap at a chance.

But it also meant he would have to go back into making lesson plans; he groaned. His only consolation was that Granger was not like the other imbeciles with no brains. He sighed and settled down to the uninteresting job at hand.

He glanced at the clock. It was half seven; Granger had left only less than an hour ago, and she had made him tired. He smiled darkly; she would, no doubt, repay it in spades.

After all, he was a known taskmaster.


	21. Chapter 21

**_I apologise for the delay; I had no time to finish this until now. Hope you like it :)_**

* * *

"What do you mean you can't make it??" Harry screamed through the Floo.

"Err, calm down Harry. Something came up, and I really, have to take care of it."

"We'd planned this for weeks!"

"Harry I know!" she rubbed her forehead, should have known Harry was going to make a racket, "but this is more important!"

"More important than two whole days at Majestic Magical Massages??"

Sure spending two whole work-free days, relaxing and being pampered, at the most expensive Spa Resort in the magical community was appealing, but this thing with Snape was (Hermione forced herself to think) was more appealing, and not to mention, important to her career.

Harry was fuming, and it was not just the effect of the fire, Hermione was sure. He had paid a fortune for this no-expense-spared trip, and the bookings had to be made nearly a month in advance.

"Harry…" she reasoned with him, "This is important to me."

Harry deflated a little, but not too much.

"Can't you just put it off till, I don't know, next week or even next weekend?"

Hermione imagined herself talking to Snape to let her postpone their sessions so that she could go to a spa.

If Harry wasn't so serious, Hermione was sure she'd have died laughing.

Asking Snape to take a break.

Unwittingly, a snort escaped her, and Harry gained full force.

"It's not trivial! It's certainly not funny!"

"Harry! No! It's not funny, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it that way, I was, err… laughing at my own geeky-ness in placing extra work over rest, but, I really can't get out of this."

She could see he crossed his hands. "Move."

It took a moment for her to understand what he had meant, and she barely made it out of the way before Harry's boots came out of the fire.

Hermione was therefore, forced to dive sideways from a kneeling position, which meant she didn't miss the sofa leg, not by half.

"OW!"

"''Mione?" Harry was looking around.

"Down here!" She snapped, raising herself on one elbow, as best as she could without bumping into the back of his legs.

On second thoughts, maybe she should send Harry flying across the sitting room table.

Harry sympathetically winced at her position and helped her up to the sofa.

"I **did** tell you to move."

"Half a second before your boot barely missed my face!"

Harry looked properly apologetic.

He helped her make an ice pack, and perched on the table.

"What's this 'thing' about anyway?"

"Err… you know how I'm required to earn a Master in Transfiguration to keep this post, yes?"

"Uh-Huh."

"Well, I thought I might as well get a Master in a few other subjects as well, after all, I did pass all the NEWTs I sat for."

"What? That means," Harry counted silently, "Four??" He looked as if his eyes would pop out, "'Mione, it could become really, very, very heavy!" He weighed down every word with dread.

Not to mention, Hermione under such stress would become, really very, very unmanageable, and hysterical; not to mention depressed and paranoid. They had enough of that during their (delayed) NEWT exams. Harry and Ron had concentrated on passing Defence and Charms, and both had managed Defence, but Harry had managed Charms too. Ron, was pretty happy with one.

"I know," Hermione sighed and slumped a little, "But I really need to finish this, and its better that I take them together."

"Are you sure? Who's coaching you?"

"Err, yes I'm sure, and oh, well Minerva of course, Dumbledore will help and a few others."

"Hmm," Harry frowned, "It's strange."

Hermione gulped; did he figure out something was out of place?

"What's strange?" she asked nervously.

"Calling the professors by their first name," he chuckled, "imagine if that old bat of a Snape was here; he'd have an aneurism if you called him Severus."

"Professor Snape, Harry."

He waved about, "yeah, yeah; the git."

Hermione was surprised at her internal need to defend said Git, but she bit her tongue and said nothing. She was relieved that Harry didn't suspect a thing; but of course, the paranoia always kicked in.

"He's a great man, Harry," she admonished him.

"Hang on, Hermione, he WAS a great Git."

"Err, right, Was a great Git, err, Man."

"Are you sure you're alright? You look a bit flustered."

"I'm fine, why wouldn't I be fine?"

"Well, you are turning red at the ears and looking flushed. Did that fever come back? Need more potions?"

"NO!" she calmed down as best as she could, "no, I just need some rest."

"Right," Harry looked at her dubiously, "oh hey!" he brightened, "maybe you can come next weekend? I'm sure the spa will make special consideration for Harry Potter?" he tapped his chin.

"Harry! Using your fame like that. I never thought!"

He shrugged and smiled lopsidedly, as if to say, "Can't hurt any."

"Besides," she continued, "Weekends are the only time I will get to study, so they're out of the question."

"'Mione!" Harry groaned and flopped down next to her on the sofa, "you've got to be the most obsessed person ever!"

"Hey! I'm not! Besides, it will be over as soon as I can do it, and I hope to finish by the next school year."

"A WHOLE YEAR?? MIONE!" Harry's head hit the back of the sofa and he theatrically threw his arm over his eyes.

"Please Harry. You know I need to do this, especially after all the mess with Ron," her eyes misted, and Harry melted.

"Alright, 'Mione," he hugged her sideways, and stuck his face into her hair, "I get it, and I promise I will be here to nag and get you to take a break."

Hermione smiled and leaned into the embrace. It was good to have some physical contact after so long. It wasn't like she could go hug any of the teachers at whim.

Imagine the look on professor Snape's face if she hugged him impulsively, Hermione giggled. She'd probably be splattered all over his pristine house.

"What's funny?"

"Nothing," Hermione giggled, "Just thinking how Professor McGonagall would react to a random hug."

Harry snorted into her hair and sent strands flying. Hermione wiggled when his breath glazed over her neck; she was very ticklish.

Which Harry promptly noticed, and took ruthless advantage of.

They both landed in a giggling heap, poking and tickling each other mercilessly; Hermione squealed and laughed, gasping for breath, and barely having recovered before Harry went at it again.

A few minutes later, Hermione pleaded with Harry to stop, and he finally relented. They didn't move, trying to gain some bearing, and their breath back. Harry was half on top of Hermione, with one thigh between her legs and Hermione had curled a leg around it. Harry's hand was on her stomach and one of hers was playing with his hair.

His face was buried in her hair and was therefore not visible to Dumbledore, who had arrived just then, and found the two curled in such an intimate position.

Naturally, he misunderstood.

Had he known that it was Harry, he might not have stuck that titbit of a scene into his arsenal for later gossip.

Had he known it was Harry, he might not have chosen one supposedly dead grumpy potions' master as one of his targets for said gossip.

It was of course, an established fact that an innumerable number of completely jobless portraits would contribute to the current standing position of Hogwarts, as the most outrageous gossip factory, in all of England.

Of course the French had Beaubaxtons to represent the gossip capital of France. No one knew what was the case with Durmstrang, and frankly, no one cared. Durmstrang had been romanticised with Hermione Jean Granger's short but well publicised affair with Krum; it quickly lost appeal.

And while Jonathan AK.A. Severus Snape denied any interest in the juicy news that the former headmaster shared so generously with him, he did file it away to use in future insulting statements against the poor victim that was one Hermione Jean Granger.

You couldn't kill a portrait now, could you?


	22. Chapter 22

Hermione wanted to hex the person who said the first step was the hardest.

With Snape, every bloody step was harder than before.

And after four weekends, that was quite high on the measure of difficulty scale. It was like pulling teeth with this man.

He was just so stubborn! Not to mention unhealthily creative with insults. Was it a Slytherin thing? She couldn't so much as flex her hand without him commenting about it. It was downright annoying.

She lost it after he called her indexing skills rudimentary and fit for a first year's clothes closet. NO ONE called her indexing skills bad. She knew she was obsessed and therefore her skills in categorising were obsessively brilliant.

It disturbed her that she knew she was obsessed and considered it useful. She should have listened to Harry and blown off Snape for the Spa.

"Alright, I get it! I'm obviously not the right person for this, so I'll leave you alone!" She started packing her few quills and books and parchment. She'd do the master courses on her own, and he could go hang. She wasn't that desperate that she'd put up with such demeaning attitudes, even if it meant getting the best (as she thought) instruction.

Anyway, so far all he had done was ask her to start categorising the experimental charms he was designing. It was interesting to read about them, when she could sneak in a look, but Snape being the taskmaster that he was, had her on her toes.

One weekend it was indexing and categorising, the other it was cataloguing results for charms that he tweaked, performance wise, and asked that she witness the casting and change in the same.

It was actually very interesting work, and she was rather surprised that he suddenly seemed to pay more attention to charms and less to potions. Had she known before that he was alive, and not as Jonathan M. Smithe, she'd have expected him to have been toiling over illegal and/or complicated rare potions, his hair to be greasier and hands to be stained, hang on a tick now, why was she thinking about his hair and hands?

Now that she consciously noticed her mind noticing such things, she looked over at Snape, who seemed to have abandoned his writing, to watch her packing with a particularly amused and annoyed expression. How did the man manage to mix those two? True his hair was decidedly non greasy and his hands... were too far away to be observed with care.

Which meant that if she had observed them with care, he had been close enough. Hermione decided that observation of another human being was a markedly awkward topic at this point in time. She went back to sorting papers back to their files and re-arranging her desk.

Let it never be said that Hermione left a task, untidy desk in the waking.

"Is this some sort of move that carries Gryffindor-ish, and therefore futile, hope that I will beg you to stay?" His sneer was driving her mad.

"I beg your pardon?" she snapped at him, "I don't think I'd be stupid enough to expect leniency, let alone you asking me to stay."

"So you really are leaving?" Did he have to sound so gleeful at that? She didn't even know that Snape could sound gleeful. She didn't resist looking to see if his face matched his voice.

Ever the stony faced (albeit slightly sneering) professor of the Devil's nightmares stared back. Would it kill him to show something else once?

She remembered the penseive memories she had seen; his dying command. He had laughed then. He had seemed so normal. So much could change in so little time.

She sat down with a sigh, and buried her head in her hands, hair falling loose from their tie. It was pointless that she leave now. He was who he was; there was nothing to change it.

She stared at the packed bag resting by her knees. She should leave, serves him right, let him do his own bloody work. Besides, if she stayed now, she'd never hear the end of it.

She sighed, but then if she did leave, he'd hire someone eventually, and then they'd surely not have resistance as great as hers. They could go mad, or he'd murder someone. He'd go to Azkaban, or the employed poor sod would probably kill him/her self.

She could tell him she'd stayed because she wanted to do good for the society, or because she wanted to irk the magic out of him by being inept in her very special way, just so she could torture him.

Right. That's earn her scathing comments plus a free trip out on her ear. Arrgh! This was so frustrating!

He cleared his throat, "Weren't you off somewhere, never to return, Ms. Granger?"

She braced herself, "Not tonight." Hermione looked at him levelly.

"Ah, well, I could have almost sworn you were."

She didn't respond, but crossed her hands across her chest and leaned back in her chair. "Sorry to disappoint you, again."

"Quite expected," he resumed his writing. Not bad at all, considering everything; she'd just behaved grown up, in the end at least, and he hadn't ridden her for it.

"Why do you want me to leave so badly? You could have said no in the first place."

"Let it not be said that I never tried **Everything** once." He canted an eyebrow.

"Right. Would you mind if I called for tea? I think we could both use a cuppa."

"Indeed."

Tea service floating between their desks, at either ends of the room, Hermione was happy for the temporary silence. If it was anyone else, silence would have been odd, but with Snapping Snape around, silence was almost wished.

He sipped his tea in between reading and marking texts, and Hermione could go back to looking for changes. True, his appearance had improved quite a bit, and she supposed he actually had the time and luxury to spend on looking, well, at least not like something the mad doctor dug up.

His pallor had turned healthy, and she remembered from the times he had bared his teeth at her, or snarled at her supposed incompetence, that they were not as uneven as she remembered from the snarling and baring of teeth during school.

He looked rather normal actually, she noted in surprise, except for the enormous nose.

"Quite finished with your observations, yet?" he asked in a silky voice, and she involuntarily shivered.

"Sorry. Just thinking, is all," she looked down into her cold tea. If she believed in such things as Divination, she'd want to ask the tea leaves to tell her how to handle someone like Snape.

If she believed in such things.

She decided that she might as well push her luck and ask him for honest answers, which was stupidly futile, but she wasn't sorted into Gryffindor for an excess of subtlety.

"Why do you hate me so much, Professor? Am I really that big an inconvenience to you? You once haven't changed the files I have ordered; what makes you want to get rid of someone who would do free service for you?"

He looked up, annoyance flashing before settling into nonchalance. "This is the reason, Ms. Granger, because you always want to know everything, your incessant questions, your Gryffindor brashness for a Ravenclaw attribute. "

"Then why'd you agree?"

"Like you just said: free service."

"For the cost of your time."

"Time can be made up for."

It was true; she had done the same herself in third year.

"Would it kill you to spare something deeper than skin once in a while?" she muttered, not too softly.

"In my previous role, it would have."

That was something, wasn't it? He actually answered a question with something that referred to the times of past. Personal past. Was he just telling her that sometimes old habits are hard little buggers to kill?

Knowing Snape, which she had to admit, was a very feeble knowledge so far, he was attempting to be civil. That was a brilliant step forward.

"I... err... " she stopped, and looked at the clock, it was quarter to eight already? No wonder she was starving.

Snape must have followed her gaze to the clock. "Oh very well," he said in a put-upon tone, "Daisy!"

An elf appeared, dressed in a crisp white mini-robe. Hermione had never really seen the elf before; The tea service and snacks just appeared near them when they required.

Figures, Snape's elf was a recluse too. Hermione smiled to herself. At least the elf was dressed in better clothes than a tea towel.

"Set an extra place at the table for Ms. Granger, please," he turned to her, "will you be staying later than dinner?" He was being strangely civil and polite, and she was worried he might booby-trap her chair at the table.

"I wanted to get one file through tonight," she said uncertainly, "but I can leave if you want."

He considered this, "No need, finish the file tonight," he tapped his chin, "perhaps you'll oversleep and fail to come until late tomorrow. Peaceful longer for me."

She glared. Really? Did he have to sound that hopeful?

He turned back to the waiting elf, "an extra at the parlour too."

Parlour? Hermione frowned, and then it struck her, a drink after dinner.

With Snape.

That he had arranged for.

After dinner.

With Snape.

That she hadn't asked for.

It was bizarre. Perhaps a charm had affected him or backfired? Maybe he fell down the stairs and hit his head? Maybe he was just messing with her head?

Hermione's theories on "what could be wrong with Professor Snape?" were interrupted by his extremely irritated "Are you planning to move anytime this decade, to actually test if I poisoned your food?"

Well so much for deviation from usual, Hermione thought as she followed his long strides out of the room.


	23. Chapter 23

Dinner was an awkward affair, Hermione decided, when your only dining companion was your teacher, and a dastardly one at that.

Although, she had to admit, the food was fantastic; in fact, it tasted just like Hogwarts' food.

"Your elf is a great cook," she said between bites.

He only briefly looked up from the parchment he was reading, and nodded, before going back to whatever was capturing his interest on the parchment.

How long could you read a single sheaf anyway? Hermione poked a little too viciously at the peas, and to her embarrassment, a few rolled off.

"I see your manners have taken a toll living with the Weasley," he sneered, putting down the parchment and picking up his fork.

"Sorry," she mentally stuck her tongue out at him, and stared into her plate.

A minute later, she heard a vague curse and muttering before a heavy sigh left Snape's lips.

"Alright, don't sulk for Merlin's sake!"

"I am Not sulking," Hermione muttered to her plate, and stabbed a potato.

"Yes you are, Ms. Granger."

"Am not!"

"Oh very mature of you."

"You started it!"

Snape dragged a hand over his face, the other gripping his knife tightly; Hermione could tell he was annoyed. Why did they always end up arguing?

"Sorry," she said sheepishly, "I'm not used to eating alone from a long time."

"I'm here, am I not?"

"Well it's as good as you aren't! I think the plate is more talkative than you."

"You have the audacity, Ms. Granger, to come into my home, and insult me at my dinner table?" His free hand was gripping the table cloth, white around the knuckles.

Hermione was a little scared.

"I didn't mean to insult you! I just meant to say you are not very conversational."

The grip loosened, and Hermione breathed a little sigh of relief. She had to get used to the fact that she couldn't talk to Snape like she did with Harry or Ron or even some of the other teachers.

"I'm sorry Professor Snape, I think this was a mistake, I'll try to finish before dinner in future. Clearly you don't enjoy company. It was kind of you to offer me dinner tonight." She felt quite grown up, but strangely bereft. She had been looking forward to this, but it seemed that he was clearly not.

It was not her intention to make him suffer her presence any more than he desired it, which was quite less, by the way.

She felt defeated. Hermione was looking forward to trying to get to know Professor Snape better, after all, they all knew him as a hero, and that he was a deeply romantic man, for all that he did for Lily.

Even Harry had agreed that he was a respectable and honourable man, even if he was a slimy Git to them most of the time they knew him. Once Harry understood the kind of life and pressure Snape must have lived under in his life, he sympathised with him. Harry knew what it was to be the pawn someone else was playing.

They all did.

Invariably she understood that after all these years of blessed anonymity; this man had to put up with more of Dumbledore's machinations. She felt thoroughly guilty for having such a nosy nature, which brought them here, at this table, in stony silence.

It struck her that it must be utterly difficult to have another person invading his space, his peace as he put it, and he was putting up with it just to help her. No doubt that they was some exchange of service, but his sacrifice was suddenly so much more greater.

But it was not surprising; this man here had sacrificed his entire former existence to repentance and had paid his debt ten times over. He was still being played by Dumbledore.

She knew that it was definitely Dumbledore's "coaxing" that had him agree, in whatever great reluctance. Dumbledore knew that she would find out eventually, then why did he push her that extra step?

For what reason did Dumbledore want her to invade this man's life? And she!

Hermione felt an utter idiot for letting Dumbledore play her weakness for knowledge. Her eyes blurred with tears; how could she be such a pawn all over again?

All Snape asked was for peace and freedom, then couldn't she swallow her selfish desires to allow him that? How could she take away that which was not hers to take?

Hermione abruptly pushed back from the table, tears streaming down her face.

"I'm so sorry, Professor!" she choked, "It was wrong, so very wrong! I should never have come here! I'll have Winky come by for my things."

Hermione wiped the tears from her eyes and drew in a shaky breath. Why was her heart breaking to say goodbye?

"Goodbye professor. Thank you for the time you spared. I learned a great deal, but now I'll leave you to your peace."

She stole a glance at the Professor to find him openly surprised at her sudden outburst. She took advantage of his stupefied look (which was definitely a first for him) to leave without having to hear anything more.

She hurried out of the room and turned back to retrace her steps to the living room where she could go home and cry in peace. Hermione didn't understand why she there was such a heaviness in her heart at the prospect that she might never see him again, but she didn't stop to consider it.

She was forced to stop when she felt a hand on her arm, gripping tightly, and pulling her to a stop.

"Please Professor, I can't do this anymore."

"I will not have you storming out on me," he snapped, "without first informing me of your reason to do so."

Hermione said nothing, but didn't turn to face him either. How could she let him see her this way? So weak?

"You are no coward, Ms. Granger," he continued when she refused to turn around, "face your fear like the Gryffindor you truly are!"

"It was my Gryffindor foolishness that made me come here in the first place! Please, let me go!"

"Not until you tell me why," he punctuated each word with a tug, not wholly gentle, to turn her toward him.

"I don't want to take away your hard earned peace, Professor. It was not right of me to so selfishly take some of it away." She straightened and he let go.

She still refused to look up at him, so she concentrated on looking at the light shining off his black boots in the dimly lit hallway.

"Look at me, Ms. Granger," he commanded.

She refused and shook her head, "I don't deserve your time, you're right. Please, let me leave, and you will not see me again."

She was entirely too startled when she felt his finger push under her chin, to raise her head. But she didn't flinch, nor did she step away. But irrational fear took hold of her. What would she see when she looked up? His customary sneer? Loathing for her useless tears? Disgust?

She closed her eyes and felt as if his one finger had rooted her to the ground. She would have been expected to feel angry that he held her back, that he was now staring at her tear stained face.

"Look at me Ms. Granger," he repeated, but these words were said in a gentle tone that was so unlike the person saying it. She opened her eyes out of surprise, to find him looking down at her with neither sneer nor disgust.

She was not sure what was within those shining onyx orbs. She felt like she was drowning, and the only spot his finger rested was her hold on life. She swallowed nervously.

The movement must have been felt by him, for he seemed to snap back to the present, and he drew his hand back. Hermione swallowed the small protest that formed in her throat, and didn't move.

"If I found your company that intolerable, you would have no way of stopping me from blocking your passage here." He took a step back.

"Spare your apologies and prove yourself worthy." He turned to leave but stopped a few steps ahead.

"Leave now. I'll expect you here at 9 am tomorrow morning."

Hermione, to surprised to speak, only nodded, belatedly realising that he wouldn't be able to see the small movement.

But she supposed that he didn't expect her to respond with anything but a "yes", judging by the way he walked away crisply, not waiting to see what she said.

Hermione grazed the spot under her chin where he had touched. She could still feel it. She turned around, strangely light, and fingered her arm through the sleeve. The skin there tingled, as if with magic, and Hermione didn't know what to think of that.

She held her arm all the way to the Floo, and returned in a daze to her quarters. It had been a very strange evening.

Meanwhile, the man on her mind went straight to his study, where he proceeded to unceremoniously down two shots of scotch before settling in his favourite armchair with a third.

He wasn't sure what had come over him, to make him behave as he just had with the girl. He could have let her walk away, but the strange thing was, he didn't really mind her company.

That thought made him down the third scotch, and he summoned the bottle to him.

Such thoughts required that he was completely and utterly sponged out his mind.

But all he could think of was the girl, nay woman's face, tear stained and fear stricken, in the flickering torch light of the hallway. How the tears had glistened like tiny crystals in the wavering yellow flames.

He remembered how her eyes were filled with remorse and surprise, when she looked upon him in the gloom.

He wasn't sure what she had seen in his own.

He wasn't sure what he had shown in his own.


	24. Chapter 24

Hermione lay in bed that night, thinking just how unexpected Snape was. One minute he was cutting her with his sharp words, and the next he was being so gentle and intense at the same time.

She tried to sleep, but all she could see in her mind were his eyes, alight with some emotion she couldn't fathom. In the space of a few minutes he turned her from self loathing and remorse to a curiosity and lightness that she didn't understand.

In those few minutes her heart would have thudded out of her chest, and she had been overcome with a fear of a new kind.

It was hard to reconcile this man with Jonathan as she had first seen him. But with a start, she realised she hadn't yet asked the Professor how he had managed to hold up the enchantment for so long, potion or otherwise.

Truth be told, in the excitement that followed, and her discovery of Snape, she had forgotten about Jonathan, and her mind had been concentrated on Snape.

She touched her now bare arm where he had held her, and felt that familiar tingle. She thought it was wrong that she thought of him so much, that she shouldn't be.

He was Snape, for crying out loud! One minute of kindness didn't mean that he was suddenly going to turn Dumbledore.

But that one minute of kindness showed her that under that prickly exterior, there was a gentle soul. She thought back on all the memories she had seen from his mind.

His nobility, his love for Lily that was still strong, his need to always do what was right when it mattered. His immeasurable sacrifice.

The man was the most honourable of men she had the pleasure to meet.

Hermione sighed. Even if Snape had polyjuiced into someone, the manner he had treated could not be created, and pretending to be charming was not possible without the actual charm within.

Hermione remembered the disappointment on Jonathan's face in the end, she remembered the smile, and the rich deep laugh. She had been highly attracted to Jonathan, but he was the same man she had known in another cruel form.

It was just so difficult to try and combine these two incredibly opposite men, and bring up Snape's face.

She wished she had a mirror into Snape's soul. She wanted to know more about him, but she didn't want to impose on him any more than she already was.

She brought up his face in the hallway, shadows obscuring half of it, expressionless except for the intense look in his eyes. What made him open himself up just a little bit, to show that gesture of kindness?

It was as if he didn't realise he was being so gentle, when he jerked back his hand from her face. He must have run a little if he took the time to understand why she had babbled and bolted.

He had made it clear that he didn't mind her being around, yet he had not reached out in friendship.

And she was strangely happy to be back working with him; she realised with a pang, despite his barbed speech and scathing remarks, he had entrusted her with a great deal of sensitive information.

He might even trust her a little.

The thought startled Hermione. Severus Snape was not a man who trusted easily.

She was now very determined to earn more of his trust and his respect. Hermione would respect his boundaries, but that wouldn't stop her from trying to get him to reach out a little more.

Hermione smiled and settled to sleep. Tomorrow would be a brand new day.

* * *

Hermione stepped into the Floo in nervous apprehension. How would he react today? Would he behave as if nothing happened?

In reality, nothing had happened, but Hermione's disquiet brain refused to brush it off as a non-occurrence.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped into the Floo, and was whisked away into her own wonderland.

The living room was empty when she arrived, and she headed straight to the work room; perhaps he was there.

She was vaguely disappointed when she didn't find him at his desk, and hesitated a few moments before she headed to his usual practical work area, only to find it empty.

She decided he must have stepped out for some work, and went to her desk, where her packed bag still stood against the chair. Unpacking and re-arranging her desk, she buried her head into the unfinished file.

Her furious scribbling was interrupted rather violently when she heard a crash from the living room, which made her drop the file she was working on, and splatter ink all over the sheet.

"Shit!" She muttered and cleaned up the mess as soon as she could, before heading to the living room to see what it was about. She heard a few more crashes and hurried to investigate, wand withdrawn; perhaps someone was causing trouble?

Drawing in a breath, she threw open the door to the living room, only to duck in haste when a glass jar came flying toward her.

She cast a shield to protect her from the broken glass and crouched low, before standing up and facing the troublemaker.

Which happened to be a very irate Snape, standing with his arms crossed, looking for all the world like a petulant teenager in the middle of a temper tantrum.

Had the situation not been quite serious, Hermione would have laughed, but one does not laugh at an angry Snape and live to tell about it.

Dumbledore had come to see what that noise was as well, and was watching silently from his chair. Hermione swallowed the smile at the grave look Dumbledore wore.

"Is everything alright?"

"Of course, everything is just peachy!" Snape snapped at her.

"I can see that," she said, a bit annoyed, "what happened?"

"None of your…" Snape was cut off by Dumbledore.

"Just a minor disagreement with the Ministry, my dear, nothing serious."

"Minor?" Snape sputtered, "Nothing serious? Have you gone mad?"

"Calm down Severus, there is nothing much you can do about it!"

"Well I can bloody well hex the witless nincompoop!"

"And go to prison? Now who's mad?"

"But Albus! An Inquiry? On me??"

"What?" Hermione interrupted, "why would they want to conduct an inquiry on you?"

"Apparently, Ms. Granger, since you are so fond of butting your nose in my business," Hermione ignored the barb, "they think that the seal's authenticity is in question."

"Well we can prove that it is indeed authentic, and worthy of it's reputation?" Hermione inquired, frowning in thought.

"It's not that simple, my dear," Dumbledore shook his head, "they want to see the details of the charm."

"That's ridiculous!" Hermione exploded, "that would mean leaving the charm bare to scrutiny, and by extension, possible piracy!"

"Piracy?" Snape asked, puzzled, "does it mean something similar to plagiarism and unauthorised usage and reproduction?"

"Err, yes, it's a muggle term."

"Ah, I see," Snape looked at her, "much as I loathe admitting it, you are right Ms. Granger."

Hermione felt a small wave of happiness before coming back to the situation at hand, "We have to do something!"

"We, Ms. Granger?" Snape canted an eyebrow, "this is not your fight."

"I want to make it my fight! Besides, I would hate to see someone's hard work be stolen like that! The miserable arses."

Snape's lips curled a little on one side, he was amused at her vehemence. "Indeed Ms. Granger, but this will not be easy."

"I know, Professor," she looked at him shyly, "but I want to help."

He looked at her a few moments and then turned to the portrait, "Very well. Albus, you say they will be protected against memory charms, how so?"

"Well, during the war, Messrs. Fred and George, oh by the way, I heard Fred's portrait is wreaking havoc in our side of the portrait world," Albus chuckled and Hermione smiled sadly. George had never really gotten over Fred's death.

"I would expect nothing less of the boy," Snape spoke, and Hermione was surprised to find that his tone was kindly.

"Anyway," Albus interrupted their thoughts, "Messrs. Weasley created some sort of battle armour for the ministry, which included hats that protected against such enchantments on the mind."

Snape was thoughtful; At length, he nodded and spoke, "which means they would have done a good job of it."

"Can't we just lie to them about certain important details?"

"No, Ms. Granger, they will use verity charms, they make up for their incompetence with verity charms," Snape answered sullenly, and Dumbledore nodded in confirmation.

"Perhaps if we could all sit down and take tea, it might calm our thoughts and do us good."

"What is it with you plying tea at the drop of a hat? Tea doesn't solve anything, Albus."

"Ah, Severus," Dumbledore twinkled, "what do you suggest instead?"

"I believe in the powers of Glenfiddich," replied said wizard, and crossed his hands across his chest.

"I'll take tea, thanks," Hermione smiled and called the elf; she asked for tea and Snape asked for a bottle and one of his crystal snifters.

They were all quite and Snape seemed particularly pensive while working out how to keep the ministry from sniffing too deep.

Hermione worried, which was quite natural for her, but the fact that Snape seemed so out of sorts, worried her; Snape was never the one to "lose his cool" as they said.

"Professor, I hate to interrupt," Hermione started meekly, and looked up with a frown, "this may seem trivial, but won't they be able to recognise your magic? Like they check the wands at the Ministry?"

"Ms. Granger, have you ever wondered how I managed to appear for the setup of the enterprise and get away with it?"

She hadn't. "I didn't really think about it," she added sheepishly.

Snape almost seemed amused. Wow, he must really un-clench with Glenfiddich, Hermione thought.

"Well, it seems then, that either I managed to fool the magic sensor, or," he paused and waited to see if she caught on.

"Or, your magic has changed!" Hermione was stunned! She had never thought that was possible.

"Ah, there might be hope for you yet," he swallowed the rest of the liquid, and winced a little as the liquid burned on its way down.

"How did that happen?"

"Well, it has happened before, with the Dark Lord," he gave a distinctly sly smile that made her uncomfortable.

"But you haven't turned..."

"Snakelike?"

"Well, I was going to say evil, but they work out the same."

"How can you be sure I haven't turned evil?"

"Well, I'm still alive."

"Maybe I'm fattening you up, so to speak?"

Dumbledore cringed in his seat, and Snape spared him a cruel look.

"No, I know you haven't."

"You know? Turning into a seer, are you?" he sneered.

"Absolutely not!" Snape was surprised at her vehemence; of course he was not aware of Hermione's intense dislike for Divination and the sorts.

"I just know, because," Hermione looked into his eyes, "you are not the kind to turn evil, and I know you have had your share of dealing with darkness."

"Darkness has a strange allure, Ms. Granger," he said in an almost reverent tone, "it draws one like the moth to the flame, and it mesmerises you until you cannot deny it's power flowing through you. It is then your soul burns and you turn into nothing more than an empty husk, hoping for the death that won't come and fearing it even more. It is a half life, but only for those who can feel anything more than the greed of power."

He paused near the window and looked out into the afternoon garden; Hermione was captivated with the way he spoke; it was as if he revered the Dark side of Magic, but it made sense to her.

"What was it that you felt more than the greed?"

He seemed to snap out of a trance, and looked sharply toward her, "do not ask such questions, Ms. Granger," he said in a stern tone, and Hermione was contrite.

"Professor, " she wanted to change the topic back to the original, "you are going to be disguised again I suppose, so you will, err..." she coloured a bit, "go as him then?"

"Be more specific than 'him' Ms. Granger," he sounded tired.

"Err.. as Jonathan?"

"Yes."

"How do you manage to stay as him for so long? Did you extend the life of polyjuice? Or use high power glamour?"

"I can stay as Jonathan as long as anyone wants me to," he sounded so smug, Hermione wanted to smack him.

"How did you do it?" She asked a tad irritated.

"And why should I tell you?"

"Because I will keep asking you till you do, or I'll bounce theory after theory until I either find out or you tell me just to shut me up," now she sounded smug, but that was alright, wasn't it?

Snape shook his head, and Hermione thought she saw the beginnings of a smile, and she was happy, at least he wasn't worrying.

It was strange, this harmony between them, Hermione thought as she watched Snape's profile in the window, but she was somehow calmed by him and agitated by him. It was strange indeed, that she liked this roller coaster she had associated this 'thing' they had.

Snape sighed, aware of her intense scrutiny, while lost in thought. He didn't really mind her questions, which was a first for him, but he didn't know how to be like others. For so long he had forced himself to remain shut to the world, that now, many years after his miraculous recovery, he still found it hard to answer even the simplest of questions that were even slightly personal in nature.

With a start, Snape realised that he didn't mind her, not one bit, and if he just tried a little harder, the words would flow. He wasn't sure how to take this news, it confused him, and his only shield to confusion was a stony silence.

"I can remain as Jonathan, as you see him, for as long as I like, because Jonathan is what you make him to be. His image is stolen from your mind; he is the one whom you think of as the perfect person. "


	25. Chapter 25

"_I can remain as Jonathan, as you see him, for as long as I like, because Jonathan is what you make him to be. His image is stolen from your mind; he is the one whom you think of as the perfect person. "_

Hermione was not sure she was hearing correctly. The perfect person?

"That's brilliant!" she nearly yelled, "but, what if the perfect person is a woman?"

"Well, that's a problem that I thought of too, so I altered the original spell to work with a potion that would alter the image accordingly."

"So, you'd have to have ingested it, because people see you as soon as they come in contact, so you may not have a chance to give it to them; I don't remember taking anything to drink before I met you as Jonathan."

"True, Ms. Granger. The potion is for me and the spell is for the onlooker."

"SO each person sees you as a different image, and the potion adjusts the gender to male? That sounds quite farfetched, but not impossible."

"Yes, it was not anything close to easy to get the potion to detect and back track the spell."

"SO there still is a problem," she looked at him, "Harry's a male, and he's the Boy-Who-Lived, wouldn't that make him a perfect person for a lot of people?"

Snape sneered, "Chosen one indeed, do you not want to present yet another theory to answer your own question, Granger?"

Hermione noted the loss of prefix, and concluded that he left out the "Ms." When he was really annoyed.

"Well, I would think that you also encode a basic form with the gender into the potion's response to the spell," she rubbed her chin, "that sounds extremely complicated!"

Snape nodded and waited.

"Hang on, so the spell is cast, the spell connects to the caster, so the link is formed," she frowned, "and the potion encodes the gender into the spell, sets the Arithmantic variable for gender and outline, and re-casts to alter the image, in your case, to a male with," she remembered Jonathan's image, "long hair and a angular face?" She left out the scar and earring, sure that it was her mind's idea to give a roguish look and the platinum hair. She ignored that small part of her mind that brought up a certain Malfoy's face.

"Quite astute a deduction," he smirked, he had left out glasses with a particular person in mind.

"Did you just compliment me?"

"I did no such thing."

"But..."

"Complete the theory, Granger."

"Alright," she huffed, but continued, "Therefore the spell works on a request-response basis?"

"I would believe that is quite correct."

"Holy shit! Professor, you just used the classic muggle internet model!"

"Language, Ms. Granger!" he snapped, "and what in Merlin's name is the in-teh-net?"

"Internet, with a r, Professor, and it's just a muggle invention to communicate over distances, irrespective of measure."

"Is it now?" Snape thought it over, "yes, well, the Arithmantic equations took me the most time to complete."

"I had no idea you were so talented with charms and Arithmancy till I figured you were Jonathan," Hermione stared in awe, "the whole idea is absolutely brilliant!"

"If I were inclined to ask your opinion, which I am not, I would find your statement rather appealing."

This time she really stuck out her tongue at him, which amused Snape a great deal, judging by the laughter in his eyes, "Professor, what spell did you decode and alter?"

"It's called the Mirror Mind spell, in Latin simply, _'Speculem Mens'_," Snape was fairly proud; "the potion was my own, of course."

"Wow," Hermione accumulated all this for further study, and was silent for a while, deep in thought. Snape took this opportunity to study her in turn. She tended to bite her lip when she was concentrating, he had noticed from the few times they researched together.

Dumbledore watched the pair with interest, and stroked his beard. Perhaps there was more here than met the eye. He had certainly not seen Severus this talkative (in a non cursing marathon) only since...

"Please professor, please teach me how!"

"Perhaps, Ms. Granger, you must concentrate on your studies first."

Hermione was disappointed, and Snape hated the "My dog died look".

"Maybe if I can still tolerate you by then, you shall learn in due time."

It was like the sun had risen, the way Hermione brightened. Snape almost smiled.

"Oh! Thank you professor!" Hermione would have clapped her hands in glee, if she was in such company.

Snape nodded and turned to Dumbledore, "Don't you have better things to do other than watching people all day?"

"I watched people all day even when I was alive, Severus."

"No wonder," Snape muttered something that distinctly sounded like _twinkling old spy coot_; Dumbledore chuckled.

"Professor!" Hermione sprung to her feet, "what if you could alter the spell to make them see not only the image of a person, but a doctored image of the charm's internal mechanism as well?"

"Ms. Granger, I cannot understand a word when you are talking a mile a minute," he snapped, but Snape was interested.

"Sorry," Hermione blushed, "what I meant was, if you can make them see whomever they want, why not whatever you want them to see?"

Snape was nodding now, and Hermione went to stand near him, "you could re-program, that is, re-design, the spell to work such that, certain elements would be an illusion, but one that they cannot distinguish from real life!"

"Indeed Ms. Granger," Snape was surprised, "I believe that is a fair enough option."

"How long do you have?"

"Three weeks, but if we work every evening, we could do it and still have time to test the modified charm," Snape was so busy planning that he didn't notice Hermione had gone completely still.

After a moment, he looked up to find her staring at him in confusion and hope, "What is it?" He said a bit roughly.

"You said... we, we could do it," she said shyly, and Snape realised that he had said so indeed. He couldn't deny it now, he thought.

"Well, yes, as my assistant, you would be required to assist me, I should think," he said in an arch tone.

"You want me here, and you know it."

"Ha! I would have not asked if I had more time, I probably would have come up with it myself, and then I wouldn't need you."

"Why... Aargh! Fine then!" Hermione was tempted to stomp her feet, but refrained. She did however, turn away from him.

"Alright, Ms. Granger, I suppose credit is due for your quick thinking," Snape said in a tired tone, "now stop sulking."

"I am not sulking!"

"Haven't we been down that path before?" Snape rubbed his face.

Hermione remembered and coloured, "I suppose," but she remembered school, and the students, "I can't come every evening, but I'll come as often as I can."

"That is acceptable."

"Good, I'm starving, can we have lunch?"

Snape canted an eyebrow, but nodded, he was quite famished himself, not having had time for breakfast.

He led the way to the dining room as last night, where the elf had arranged two places across the long table that could just as easily have seated eight more.

Lunch was served shortly after, and it was decidedly less awkward at the table this afternoon, both having something to think over and occasionally discuss about. Snape was quite attentive to her theories and gave a brief introduction to his work on the charm.

Hermione hadn't felt this excited since she first heard about the working of the Paranoid Seal. It was fascinating to hear of Snape's work. He even agreed to let her see a demonstration of the working, wherein he would re-enact the working of the spell through practical demonstration.

After lunch, they retired to work in the research room. She waited while he fetched a vial of the potion, all the while a little excited to see Jonathan again. After all, Snape himself had said it would be the perfect person, and Jonathan was quite handsome.

Snape arrived and took off his outer robe, to work better. He was clad in a simple white shirt and black trousers, which looked quite expensive. He carefully uncorked the vial and swallowed it in one go, wincing slightly at the taste.

Hermione watched, in amazement, as Snape seemed to glow a little, and his features were softened in the process. He looked, well, glow-y.

"Ready, Ms. Granger?"

"Yes," she nodded, and closed her eyes while Snape raised his wand and uttered the spell.

She didn't feel any different, except for a slight tingle, and a moment later, she opened her eyes.

To find nothing had changed, and Snape still glowed a little. She waited, and Snape grew impatient; perhaps it was taking longer to react that usual.

"Well?" he asked, a bit irritated, "What is it?"

"Are you sure the potion and spell worked, professor?"

"Of course it worked!" he snapped, "I've done this too many times to count."

She still saw only Snape. No Jonathan around.

Snape was now looking very annoyed, and Hermione realised something that made her legs buckle under her.

She was seeing the perfect man according to her mind. It was Snape.


	26. Chapter 26

_**Thank you all for reading and giving such wonderful reviews. I hope the rest of the story is also to your liking :)**_

* * *

Snape was getting agitated watching her watch him, especially when she was staring as if he grew another head.

On second thoughts, maybe her idea of a perfect person had two heads; ever thirsty for knowledge, that one. He canted an eyebrow at her, but she seemed too dazed to notice.

Then she collapsed to the ground.

Not again! Snape thought to himself. This girl has an issue with fainting at the drop of a hat, he growled a little.

Torn between running to rescue her from hitting the ground too hard, or just letting her fall like the first time, Snape eventually managed to shoot off a cushioning spell, but not before the sounds of some part of her body hitting something were heard.

She must have hit the table on the way down; he winced sympathetically, seeing that she was good and unconscious now.

He was pretty sure the spell went off right. But he remembered Albus' little morsel of gossip (that he was sure was tailor made to annoy Snape) about Granger's little liaisons with some dark haired stud (verbatim Albus).

If she had been under the influence of another spell, or she was, ahem, with child, he didn't know what effects this spell would have.

Snape noted the state of extreme irritation he was in during these thoughts, and chalked it up to having to put up with her unprecedented discoveries of the ground.

A small part of him piped up saying that perhaps the irritation was bourne of something more personal; he made sure to quash that tiny insignificant part very quickly.

"Tempus," he said and noted that it was well past nine. Dinner, it seemed had taken far too long.

He contemplated leaving the woman on the floor, but he supposed, she would not be happy with that; he didn't want an angry Granger on his back.

He levitated her to the sofa, and set her down as gently as he could. He might have bumped her head a couple, but hey, he tried.

Snape scratched his chin; maybe he could dump cold water on her? That would do the trick. Momentarily, he discarded the idea.

Smelling salts!

The elf brought him a bottle, after giving him a funny look; judging by the time she took to fetch some, he supposed she had to snitch some from somewhere else. Handy kind, these elves.

Snape shook the bottle, turned his face away, and stuck the opened bottle under Hermione's nose.

One count, two count....

"Aaargh!" he heard her yell and slap his hand away, "Geroff!"

"Ms. Granger, are you going to make this a habit?" he watched in amusement as she stuck her tongue out, making gagging motions and pinched her nose shut.

"What's that awful thing??"

"It might have occurred to your over indulgent brain that THAT was a bottle of smelling salts, which you smelled, having had it under your nose."

She looked up at him with watering eyes, "Awful!"

"Did the work quite well, and better than being soaked with a bucket of water."

"Right, what time is it?" she rubbed her eyes and coughed, eyeing the now shut bottle in Snape's hands, with murderous intent; whether at the bottle or the holder, she wasn't too sure.

"Much too late an hour for your being here, Ms. Granger," he crossed his arms and glared down at the red eyed witch.

"Err, sorry, I guess I fainted."

"I guess you did," he drowned the sentence in sarcasm.

Hermione coloured when she remembered why, and rose to her feet as quickly as she could without getting too dizzy, "Err, I'll just go now, Professor."

"Wait. Just one minute, Ms. Granger," he walked towards her, and Hermione tried not to flinch when he stood before her, glaring down with all his might.

He raised her head to the light of the chandelier, and peered down at her. Hermione tried not to blush, while he bent for a closer look.

"slight pupil dilation, increased heartbeat," he murmered clinically, and Hermione swallowed, "it appears your fainting stint has left you a bit..." he let her chin go ,"Flushed."He finished and turned his back to her.

Hermione let out a breath, unaware she was holding it, and waited for him.

"Ms. Granger, I must warn you, if you are under another spell, of which if you are not aware, is most unfortunate, but..." he turned slightly, "if such a thing, I do not know of its effects in conjunction with mine. "

Hermione was confused, "What spell?"

"It is you I must ask that question to," he snapped, "however, if you are," he hesitated and turned away, "under any major health conditions, you must let me know," he finished gravely.

"I don't know about any spell nor do I have any major health concerns or conditions," she wasn't sure what he was driving at.

"Then what caused you to temporarily rediscover the floor?"

It took her a moment to understand, "Oh! Err, the spell didn't have any effects on me, Professor," she hesitated, "the results did."

Snape was surprised, and swung around. "What results, exactly?" he frowned.

"I'm not sure you'd be pleased to hear it, and I think we'd be too embarrassed to say it."

Snape was annoyed; "Granger, I don't care if you had to face a revelation that you are enamoured with your latest knight in bloody shining armour; I taught too many years in a school with giddy teenagers like yourself to be embarrassed with what you have to say."

"What? I am not a giddy teenager! What are you on about?"

"Give it up Ms. Granger, your liaison with the dark haired whomever is an open secret, so if that is the only thing that made you faint, well I don't care, " he said with an irritated air, "however, if there are any other details that might be of interest, do tell, or get out."

Hermione was taken aback, "What are you on about?" she demanded, "I haven't had time to leave the bloody castle, and you bloody well ought to know, I have no liaisons."

Snape sneered, so she wanted to play this out, fine! He'd give her something to chew on.

"Come Come, Granger," he said silkily, "surely, you recall that the castle has many, many portraits with no better pastime than spreading what they see?"

"What? Spit it out, why don't you?" she snapped, this was getting tiring.

"Ah, i suppose this will hurt you more than me, but if you insist," he added with a smirk, "the castle's portraits were, in a position to witness you in an intimate position with another man," his smirk turned evil, "My my, Ms. Granger, on the rug? Like dogs?"

"WHAT??" Hermione exploded, "THAT'S NOT TRUE!"

"Deny it all you want Granger," he snapped, wondering why he was so angry, "Get out!"

"What? You're kicking me out? You old bat!" She was far too angry to notice his wand twitch, "What the hell are you talking about? I have had no such liaison! Who told you?"

"Not so fast, Dumbledore," Snape thundered at the figure slowly moving to the edge, and Hermione turned to look at a very embarrassed Dumbledore.

"YOU! Professor! It was you who did this?"

"Well, you see, it's like this," Albus fled from the portrait.

"Blame not the messenger for the message, Granger," Snape said in an arch tone, complete with raised eyebrow, "don't do the crime, if you can't do the time."

"The whole world's gone batty! You're talking muggle, and Dumbledore is spreading untrue gossip about me!"

"Hardly. Now I have better things to accomplish, than stand here listening to the ravings on a careless love affair," he said in disgust, "now, get out."

"It was Harry!" Hermione finally pieced it together.

"I DON'T give a rat's smelly arse who it was! Leave! Waste time no more! Don't make me hex you!"

"NO! I was just fooling with him! Harry's with Draco!"Why in the world did it matter to her that Snape knew the truth, but she ploughed on, "Harry's Gay for Chrissake!"

Snape was stunned. It was the potter brat? He was mildly surprised when Albus told him of his commitment to Draco, both sons were so unlike their fathers. He was amused to think that Lucius would be fuming, but unable to do anything.

"So, what are you getting at," he put on his most bored expression, smirking inside to see her turn shades.

"That is, I'm not...with anyone right now, and I'm certainly not having it on with Harry," she didn't know where to look, so ended up brushing invisible lint off her sleeve.

Snape considered taking the Mickey out of her, but it was late and he was tired, and strangely calm.

"Fine, get out, I'll owl you."

"Huh?" Hermione forced herself to meet his passive stare, "Right. I'll see you tomorrow, yes?"

"I believe that is the plan." Well he could pull a little leg.

"Fine, good, okay, Err.. Goodnight?" Seeing no response forthcoming, Hermione fled. Best leave when she could in one piece.


	27. Chapter 27

Dinners and lunches became common between them, which surprised Snape, but what was more surprising, was that he found her company enjoyable, most times.

She was still a nightmare when she got an idea into her head, and couldn't shut up about it.

But he knew that her researching skills were very good, not that he'd say it aloud. They had made progress over the days they spent working on the modified spell. Her Arithmancy was a bit weaker than his own, but all in all, not bad.

Occasionally they would test and re-test the spell's theory. He had, over the years, developed a sort of simulator for spells, that would do simple analysis of results and produce nothing more than a red or green blob. Red meant it was most likely a bad idea to test on humans. Green meant it was quite safe, but it still was not a guarantee.

Hermione's jaw had dropped when he revealed the simulator; Snape had the distinct feeling that he was now worshipped by her, knowledge wise, of course.

He had had no choice, especially before he was established and it was safe to assume he would not be recognised. He couldn't obviously test spells that could alter memory or even be fatal on himself. He had eventually worked out the basics, and then tried out the safer spells on random muggles whom he saw at pubs. He used to frequent muggle establishments, when he was still working out how to enter the Wizarding world and without be recognised. True, Albus told him he was a hero, now that they all knew the truth. He was disturbed, but thankful when he learned that the Potter Brat and Granger girl had stood and passionately argued for him in his 'posthumous' trials.

He snorted. So like the Ministry to try and convict a dead man. What a bunch of baboons. But he didn't want the fame, nor the attempts at revenge from still loose and deranged followers of old Voldie.

At one point, he had almost lost hope, and thought that he might have to live with muggles, risking magic sometimes, or move out of the Country. He had considered it, but he loved Old Blighty, lived here all his life, and damned if any other country made tea like the English.

So he tried again, and again, till one day, he had a spark of success.

He usually haunted one pub to keep his notes simple, but if something went wrong with the spell, he was ready to flee. He didn't approve of testing on muggles, but he had no choice. Usually, most people left him alone.

Once he had entered a place where he found only men, and most of them had purposefully disfigured their faces with piercings of every kind; he thought perhaps they wouldn't mind too much, seeing his own slightly disfiguration, but it turned out, they didn't mind at all. In fact they were so friendly, he had to hex a couple slightly, when they repeatedly tried to buy him drinks, and wanted to touch the scar that disappeared into his high collar.

Since then, he'd made sure he entered places that were not too seedy, and had women around.

He knew for sure that his spell worked when a pretty woman had offered to buy him a drink. Just to be sure, he'd entered her mind, and summoned an image of himself as she saw it. It had worked, but it had worked too well.

To her, he looked like a blonde, and definitely resembled one f those bill boards that he saw at junctions, advertising one thing or another. So off he went, to modify the equations yet again. It had taken him nearly a year to get to this point, but now, he knew atleast some sort of spell.

He'd found the Mirror Mind spell when he had spent every single moment of his waking time in the extensive dark arts libraries of both Grimauld and Spinners (when he could be sure that there was no one around) and the books that Albus had house elves smuggle to his unplottable cottage somewhere in England. His main aim was to find out why one part of his hair had turned platinum white, and why that part glowed when he was charged with magic.

His throat had taken the better part of many months to return to almost normal, till which time he suffered with a scratchy voice and frequent pangs of pain. He didn't expect that he would live to tell the tale, but he wasn't stupid either.

Snape had taken many precautions and spent many years during his time as a spy, in trying to find an anti-venin. It was not anything close to easy, to get a sample of Nagini's venom to work on, and most of her victims gave him tainted and stale samples.

His efforts had to be discreet and it was not easy, what with being in the Dark Lord's inner circle. Sure, he got to see Nagini too many times than he cared for, but he couldn't touch her, let alone get a fresh sample of her venom.

In the end, it was the Dark Lord Himself who gave him the opportunity.

Snape had spent a terrifying quarter of an hour holding a vial, with an ever-preserve charm, to Nagini's fangs, waiting for the vial to fill, feeling the rancid breath on his face. Each drop had taken an agonisingly slow descent into the vial, the clear slightly yellow liquid thick and innocent looking.

The Dark Lord wanted him to make a potion that would kill slowly, but torturously for his amusement. He wanted to use it to poison, and replace people with power, who refused to be his allies. Snape shuddered at the memories, and it was almost as if he could smell the slimy monstrosity.

Snape had made the potion, to his disgust, but Albus thought it was a good idea to keep his cover and do a good job of it. The more the Dark Lord trusted him, the better the information, and Albus was not letting this opportunity by.

Snape heard praises about the potion's working. It killed by slowly shutting down organs and dissolving tissue inside, till the victim was naught but a burned husk of their bodies. And Snape had done an excellent job. The potion took nearly three quarters of an hour to kill, but the victims were out of their mind with agony ten minutes in.

Snape still had nightmares of screaming people. He had taken to dosing himself with dreamless sleep, increasing dosage till he was addicted. The after effects were so bad; he couldn't maintain a steady hand to make potions.

With a will greater than he had ever had, Severus had brought himself out of the habit, suffering months of insomnia and then progressing to short naps. It was a very long time before he could stabilise his magic to the state where he could fire a spell without it warping into something else.

With the effects of the venom, the anti-venin, and the addiction and subsequent detoxification, his magic changed. Only children were known to change their magic and therefore changed wands till they stabilised with one. Only the rich families afforded to get their children wands before the age of 10 or 11. Many got their first wands only when they went to school, if they did. Contrary to popular belief of the ignorant, Every wizard child in England didn't go to Hogwarts, only the brightest or the ones who could afford schooling, one way or the other. The list versus the actual enrolled students was not 100%.

Many children were home-schooled and still others learned trades where they taught specific magic.

His changed magic meant he couldn't use his wand very well; of course he had other wands, which the Dark Lord had made for his followers. They were untraceable and if they lost the wand, the ministry couldn't track it back to them.

The Dark Lord was quite generous with his killing tools.

For a long time, Severus had used the untraceable wand that served him best. Once he realised what was happening to his magic, he worked to stabilise it. And then set about perfecting the modified Mirror Mind spell and potion.

Severus sat now, nursing his firewhiskey, thinking on times past, and all that had come to this. He touched the scar that was free and open now. When Granger was around, he usually cast a glamour on it. He wasn't ready to show his scars to the world just yet.

The Ministry had owled again, to remind him of his pending Ministry enquiry; he snorted, as if anyone would forget. He had a little over a week, but Granger and he had worked long and hard, they were well ahead of schedule.

The Granger girl had meekly asked if he could call her by her given name, and Snape had merely sneered and not answered.

He was considering it, although. They were colleagues now, not just student and teacher. They had suspended her studies just until this was finished. With a sigh, he realised that Granger had earned the right to use his First name as well. Now all that was remaining was how to break the news to her without her getting all teary and excited. He certainly didn't want her to think he was going soft.

He asked that part of his brain that was snickering to kindly bugger off.

"Hermione," he tried the name on his tongue, and it rolled off like it had uttered her name since eternity.

Snape smiled.


	28. Chapter 28

Hermione learned a little more about Snape every time they met. She learned that he hated being interrupted when he was speaking, or when he was working seriously on something.

She learned that he was quite generous, both with knowledge and money, only to those he deemed worthy of either one or both.

He was extremely generous with colourful words when he was really annoyed. When he was angry, he went deathly quiet, and that was the cue to run for it.

She learned that he did things how he figured was best, and usually he was right, of course she already had an idea of this from his old potions' text.

He was a genius, and worked hard to keep up with the current developments in many fields. There was very little that was beyond his ability.

She learned that he had hung out at Muggle bars, and picked up quite a few bits of the local lingua franca, not to mention the swears.

He always had red wine with his dinner while she had sparkling water.

She had plain water with her lunch and he had fresh lime.

He liked his tea strong and no milk. He never added more than one sugar.

He loved Indian curries, so long as they weren't too spicy.

He ate so much but stayed thin (she noted this with extreme jealousy).

His shirts were always fine cotton, always white and always clean.

He smelled of spices and something she couldn't place; maybe juniper and sage.

She learned that she was falling madly and hopelessly in love with him.


	29. Chapter 29

It was getting increasingly difficult for Hermione to concentrate on anything; anything but the inquiry that was happening right now, at Snape's home.

She had resorted to giving the students reading assignments in class, because her heart was simply not in it, to teach something and be sure that she wouldn't lose her frame of thought mid-sentence, or even end up making no sense at all.

She reviewed the notes in her hand one more time, and looked out the window. She knew the clock on the wall said there was thirty more minutes left to class; she knew that they students were whispering into their parchments, thinking they were soft enough not to be heard, and she even heard some giggling from the Hufflepuff girl at the back.

But she simply couldn't get herself to care.

Hermione sighed and left McCory in charge (fat lot of good that would do) while she visited the Headmistress.

"Ms. Granger! Don't you have a class right now?" McGonagall looked surprised, and not just a little concerned. Hermione was one of the most conscientious teachers she had. Not once had she missed class, or submitted grades late or, well, Hermione was never tardy.

"Yes, Headmistress, but," Hermione flushed a little, unable to believe her own ears, "I'm not feeling quite well, and would appreciate if I could take the rest of the afternoon off."

"Do you need to visit the infirmary, Hermione?" McGonagall said in a kindly tone, and that only made Hermione feel worse for the lie, "Perhaps you just are exhausted?"

"Err... Yes, I suppose that could be it, I'm sorry," she slumped a little.

"That's alright dear," McGonagall smiled, "You've been pushing yourself too hard; what with all the teaching and the studying, and the research that Albus tells me you're working on."

That made Hermione's ears perk a bit, "Err... The headmaster told you about my ... research?"

"Oh, yes! You're working on some sort of charm that tests the verity of potions or the like," she frowned, "but that's all he told me."

"Err.. Yes! It's just something I thought would be good for my Master thesis, still exploring it, though."

"That's wonderful! Perhaps now you can go rest? Have you dismissed your class yet?"

"I will as soon as I get back."

"Alright then," she made to get back to writing, "is there anything else, Hermione?"

"No," she hesitated, "Not right now, at least."

"Well then, if you don't mind, I really have to get this paperwork finished," her lips tightened, "If Albus were here, they wouldn't have the audacity to try and step into our garden, so to speak."

"Ah, but I am here, my dear," Hermione startled to find Dumbledore staring intently at her, eyes twinkling. She had long since forgiven his gossip mongering.

"Hello Professor Dumbledore," she smiled.

"Good afternoon Ms. Granger, I trust everything is well?" He tilted his head, and she nodded slightly before she spoke.

"Yes, Professor, as well as it can be," she turned to McGonagall, "Thank you, Headmistress, I'll leave you to your work now," inclining her head toward them both, she left, McGonagall staring after her.

"Albus, there is something going on here that you aren't telling me," McGonagall put her quill down; the ministry could bloody well wait.

"I'm afraid I don't understand, Minerva," Dumbledore looked far too innocent to actually be.

"You bloody well know, you old codger," she snapped at him, "What's happening with Ms. Granger?"

"My, my, Minerva..." Dumbledore leaned in conspiratorially, "are you asking me to share... Gossip?"

McGonagall looked highly uncomfortable, "No, Albus," she searched for words, "merely more information to keep in tune with my Employees' well being."

Albus smiled. Minerva was getting better and better at replacing him, all included.

"Minerva, old friend, you know I will tell you when the time is right."

"You said the same thing when you were plotting with Severus," Her eyes misted over, "and the time was right too late... I lost..." she sniffled and pulled out a tartan handkerchief from her robes, wiping her tears.

"And for that, I'm sorry, Minerva," Dumbledore said sadly, "I know you lost us both. I miss him too."

Minerva blew into the hanky and looked up with teary eyes, "even his portrait, never awoke," she glanced sadly at the ante-room where Severus' commissioned portrait hung on a wall, stern and unforgiving as ever.

Dumbledore hummed and said nothing.

"We didn't find his body, and for a while, I hoped..." she trailed away. Until the truth came out, they hated him with a passion; after all he had taken away their most precious person, and after the whole scheme unravelled, each one had their own way of mourning.

Minerva had sent out search parties and owls and patronuses, one after the other until the all returned with no answer. After nearly two years of search, she finally gave up, and had someone paint the portrait, in his favourite place, the personal potions lab. She had paid a great deal of money to have the painter put in as many rare potions' ingredients, books and journals with great detail. She wanted Severus to feel as much at home as ever.

But Severus' portrait never awakened.

At first, a spark of hope was there, and Harry commandeered the ministry's resources and the Order to drop everything and search again. They sent out secret convoys to other countries, carefully avoiding the sunny and cheerful places.

But again, the search came up fruitless.

Dumbledore looked at the frowning witch in front of him and thought of the number of times he had asked, and even begged Severus to return to his rightful home, as a hero.

Severus had flatly refused, and had gone so far as to threaten absconding if Dumbledore even tried.

Well, he smiled to himself, what Severus doesn't know, can't hurt him.

Both their thoughts (and in one case, another Machiavellian scheme) was interrupted by the tapping of an owl against the window. From the medallion that hung from its neck, it was a Ministry owl.

"Now what do those clowns want??" Minerva huffed and got up to let the owl in. The ministry was ever trying to put their noses where they didn't belong, and Minerva was quite close to chopping some off.

Dumbledore used this excuse to slip away. Perhaps he might see what was bothering Ms. Granger. Well, of course he knew what it was, the inquiry being today and all that, but what good was being a portrait if not for a spot of spying and fun?

Whistling an old muggle tune, Dumbledore straightened his robes and stepped out.


	30. Chapter 30

She was sure the inquiry shouldn't take this long.

Her hearth rug had a worn path in it now, that Hermione had devoted to making all afternoon and early evening.

She jumped a foot in the air when the clock struck the hour. It was 7 o' clock! What in the world was going on?

Snape had warned her not to contact him, lest she interrupt the inquiry, and perk the otherwise paranoid ministry with another question to grill him on.

She wanted to believe that he was being unduly unkind in brushing her off that way.

But before she left his home the night before, he had looked at her with such an expression, Hermione was not sure what it was, but it was certainly not meant to be a negative one. She thought she's imagined it when three words drifted to her ears, just as she was about to step into the Floo.

"Thank You, Hermione."

Whether she was pleased, or startled or a mixture of both, she couldn't say, but she did turn to him and whisper when his back was turned, "You're welcome, Severus."

There was no indication that he had even heard her, were it to the ordinary eye. Hermione had spent hours of day and night on end, working with him; she saw that his moments stilled for half a moment, before he resumed his task, which was sorting already sorted papers.

Hermione felt a small sliver of joy run through her that she had wanted to say was because he now regarded her as an equal, maybe even a friend of sorts.

But she knew that it was simply because she had finally been able to call his name aloud, not in secret, the way she did in her quarters, but without too much fear. She loved the feel of it on her tongue, and although forbidden fruit did taste sweeter, this was something she'd wanted to savour, from quite a while.

She realised she'd been standing in the middle of the living room, probably looking lost, when she heard the quiet cough from the portrait.

"Professor! Have you just arrived?"

"Quite the contrary my dear, I have now been here a few hours, " he raised a thin book in his hand, "had an opportunity to catch up on my reading."

"Oh," Hermione hadn't noticed him there; then again, Dumbledore could be really sneaky, especially when paintings didn't really make any noise when walking around. Which was strange, now that she thought about it, they could talk, but not make a sound when walking around?

"Well, I tried to watch you, but I was getting rather dizzy watching you wear out the rug."

Hermione flushed, "I was just worried professor," she paused, "Inquiries shouldn't nearly take this long!"

"Ah the ministry has its own way of working. I wish I could help, but," he shrugged, "I've been banned from his home too."

"Really?" Hermione was surprised, "and you never tried?" She raised both eyebrows.

"Of course I did," he smiled, "but our Severus has hexed the portrait sealed." Dumbledore stroked his beard with a smile, "he might just forget to un-seal it anytime soon."

Hermione laughed. It was likely true, knowing Sn...Err, Severus.

"I do wish he'd say something, anything," she sighed, "I'm as jittery as ever, here."

"I trust Severus will call you when he is ready," he smiled mischievously, "I wager you'd be the first."

Hermione blushed, "I doubt you'd win the wager, he'd likely want to stay away from my incessant questions and rest up while he can," she refused to meet his eyes.

"Ah! Ms. Granger, you have known me quite a long time, and should know that I will only make wagers on something that is likely the outcome," he wagged a finger at her, grinning a little,

Hermione wanted to say "irrespective of the cost of the outcome," but what slipped out of her lips were, "Perhaps."

"It may be that he might rest before he does, but you still may be the first."

So they settled to wait till Severus (hopefully) called, Dumbledore with his book ("Ways to ask Portraits on a date") which amused Hermione very much, and Hermione sat in the armchair nearest to the fire, pulling up a small table to keep the students' assignments and her pot of red ink on.

She was fast asleep when Severus' head appeared in the fire; it was rather late, and Severus wanted to leave her be, but he suspected she would expect to be disturbed if necessary, so he waited a moment, and called out.

"Granger?"

No response, except a mumble and she snuck into her blanket a little more.

"Granger? Hermione?" He tried a little louder, and then, "Granger!"

"What?" Hermione jumped to her feet, wand in hand, and the blanket pooled at her feet, revealing that she had slept in her robes, which meant she had probably been waiting for him all evening. Severus felt a little guilty, but schooled his face when Granger's sleepy eyes met his.

She smiled and Severus' breath caught. And then, she remembered and her face grew serious, "Severus?"

Hermione stifled a yawn, and Severus tried not to yawn himself. He was exhausted.

"Granger," he inclined his head, and looked around, "have you eaten yet?"

She seemed momentarily confused and slowly shook her head, "now that you mention it, I skipped dinner I suppose. Must have fallen asleep."

"I've yet to dine as well."

It took her a moment before it hit her that he was indirectly asking her to join him, "I suppose your place?"

He said nothing, but inclined his head, and stepped away from the Floo, leaving the connection open. Hermione cast a spell to straighten her robes and then her hair, and called for Winky with a wet cloth to wipe the sleep out of her eyes. Was she really that exhausted?

Snape was waiting patiently waiting near the hearth, and she nearly stumbled into him when she arrived. She reached out blindly, and he caught her easily, automatically wrapping his arm around her waist, while she grabbed the front of his shirt.

She could smell a hint woodsmoke, and cologne and spices and what not else, and she drew in a breath. If she took a tiny step forward, they'd be touching along their length. She looked up at his face, to find him looking at her with an unreadable expression; she felt his warm breath on her face.

She smelled the scotch on his breath.

"Severus?" she said softly, and he jumped back to reality, letting her go so quickly, she almost stumbled backwards while he put a safe distance between them.

"Watch your step," he said, voice a bit rough, and Hermione gulped. She wanted to kick herself, but she also knew that she didn't want him to later blame the scotch for any of his actions now.

He turned and let her follow his long strides to the dining hall, no matter that she had to trot to keep up.

Dinner was a quite affair, and he maintained strict radio silence, so eventually she gave up, wondering whether he was tense and quite because of the inquiry or something else. It was driving her mad, trying to understand him. Sometimes she wanted to shake him, and make him say something. Anything!

Finally, he gestured that she should follow him, and led her to his study, where a roaring fire and one glass of red and a snifter of amber liquids awaited them. Hermione was quite sure the inquire went not bad, if not swimmingly well, looking at mainly undisturbed glassware and furniture.

Either that or he'd managed to repair everything before she came.

But all in all, she was happy that he did contact her, and that he had not left her sleeping till morning.

He just sat there, staring into the fire, sipping his scotch, she figured, and saying absolutely nothing.

"I didn't take you to be someone so fond of your ale," she raised her glass to point in his direction.

His head snapped up to look at her, "what makes you think that, Ms. Granger?"

"Well, I have seen you so often with a glass of alcohol that I just thought..."

"That I was a hopeless drunk?" he sneered.

"No! Not that, just, well..." she shut up and sipped her wine, refusing to meet his eyes.

There was silence for a while and then, "I do not drink to get drunk, Ms. Granger," he added a beat later, "most of the times."

She looked at him, looking into the fire, and waited.

"Alcohol has more uses than drowning sorrow alone, Ms. Granger," he sipped his drink, and held it up to the fire. She was mesmerised with the patterns the fire formed through the liquid, and threw a warm amber glow on his face.

"It is an acquired taste, for scotch, or any other fine brew; one that the younger generation has very little taste in. All they want is the mindless state that it puts them in, so where does the taste come in? They probably don't know that each kind of scotch tastes different, and carries its own fragrance. One sip and you will know whether it is fine or swill."

He ran a finger around the rim, and Hermione coloured a little, but he was too involved with his thoughts to notice, "The slow burn of the alcohol combined with the burst of taste and spreading warmth is best savoured in that first sip. It is a feeling like none other, Ms. Granger," he slowly looked at her and said softer still, "it is truly divine, and you will want it," Hermione was lost in those obsidian pools, "Hermione."

Said person gulped and nervously sipped her wine. If she thought his impassioned speech in first year gave her shivers, this was something she couldn't put in words.

He broke the spell and turned back to the fire.

Hermione couldn't stand it anymore. "What happened? Why won't you tell me?"

"It went as well as it could, Ms. Granger," he sounded tired, "there is nothing more of concern to you."

"Concern to me?" she couldn't believe her ears! "Severus, we spent weeks together working on it, and how can you say it is of no concern to me?" her throat caught, and she closed her mouth, turning away.

"They expect me to pay a fine for neglecting to tell them I fired my last assistant," he sipped, "two hundred galleons."

"Two hundred... The nerve!" she exploded, "what's it any of their bloody concern if you decide to fire your assistant?"

"They found a point to snag me and they took it. That's all there is to it."

"How can you just accept it?" She stood, and took a step toward his chair, "how can you just let them?"

"And what would you have me do?" he snapped back, "fight?"

"Yes!"

"And give them a reason to poke a little deeper with that excuse? Do you think me Daft?"

"But two hundred galleons!"

"It's not that big an issue, Hermione, leave be."

Hermione deflated, but drained the last of the wine, "I'd best be going," she said sullenly, "at least tell me, if the spell worked as it should have?"

"It worked well, but I do not know if any of them would suffer any consequences," he smiled in grim satisfaction, "it cannot be traced back to you."

"And you?"

He said nothing, and Hermione lost it. "Snape! Answer the question!"

"It will not be traced back to me either."

"How? You cast it!"

"I have a special wand for such... purposes."

Hermione felt sick. "What else can they not trace back to you?"

"Mind your tone, Ms. Granger; I will not have you use it against me."

"I thought you were different now, but you're still the same cold heartless person," her eyes filled, "I thought..."

"That I was all better now?" he sneered, "that I would be all hearts and roses?" he stood and hurled the snifter into the fire, and Hermione winced as the glass shattered and the flames exploded for a moment. He stepped toward her and she couldn't help but move backward, till they back of her legs hit the armchair she was sitting in before. She collapsed into it, fear clouding her, and Snape smiled an evil smile as he grasped the arm rests and bent in close to her face.

"Once a death eater," he hissed, "always a death eater.... Hermione," he breathed and his eyes glinted in the firelight.

Hermione fought her fear. "No," she whispered and he was momentarily stunned, before his face took on the familiar sneer.

"How... Gryffindor... of you," he made to pull back, but Hermione grabbed his biceps, nearly making him fall forward, but he grabbed the arm rests to support himself, ready to berate her. Something in the way she looked at him made him stop. There was sorrow in those warm eyes, and fear and strangely...understanding.

He was distinctly afraid now.

"No," she repeated, and brought her face close to his, "you will not push me away now."

What?

She was so close that he could smell the wine, and tell that it was a Chianti, he could smell her hair and tell she had washed it this day, and he could feel the tender but firm command in her voice and touch.

Severus closed his eyes, and breathed in, not sure of himself, "Hermione," he faltered, "it will not be easy, and not the best of ideas." He pulled back a little, and closed his eyes. "I cannot be just a friend."

Hermione felt the weight of the words he spoke. How long? Her anger faded, and she made up her mind.

"If I wanted just a friend, I would have stuck with Ron."

His eyes snapped open, and there was such emotion there that she could not look away. She moved her hands from his biceps and brought them to grasp lightly on his now open collar; not pushing, not pulling, but just there. It was his move now.

He didn't say anything, but released his hands from the arm rests. Hermione was sad for a moment, and made to remove her hands, but he knelt in front of the arm chair, and brought his palms to frame her face.

Hermione's breath caught at the gentleness of his hold, and she held his questioning gaze. At her minute nod, Severus held back no more.

The agonisingly sweet touch of his cool dry lips on her warm moist ones sent a burst of electricity through her, and she gasped. This, she thought, as he slowly drove every coherent thought out of her mind; this was what it should feel like.

This was what she knew, was the perfect emotion; what his lips said without a word being uttered.

This was love.


	31. Chapter 31

"Would you stop trying to carve in runes into my carpet?"

She looked up blankly, temporarily stunned into silence and a stationary stance.

He could just feel the headache threatening; sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose, to try and stave it. In the meanwhile, Hermione went to settle on the couch, wringing her hands and muttering about how she shouldn't have skipped some question or the other.

Personally, Severus knew that was a joke; no one accused Granger of missing a question, and lived to tell about it; no one except herself. And everyone knew she was along the same levels of Paranoia as one late Alastor Moody.

"Hermione."

No response.

"Granger!" He stood up, disturbing the papers he was working on, "Stop it!"

"What if I fail?!"

"It doesn't help with you moping around this way!"

Which Severus instantly knew, was the very wrong answer to say. Before he could say anything to alleviate it, brown eyes went dangerously bright, and her lower lip quivered. Severus mentally kicked himself, but honestly! She was getting on his last raw nerve.

He cursed all educational boards that took three weeks to grade Master exams and Thesis. Couldn't they bloody well just get it over with quickly? They were magical for Circe's sake! Did it really take three weeks of insufferable torture to tell the insufferable torturers to bugger off with their exam results?

He approached the now sobbing girl...err... woman, cautious and resigned. Ever since, he thought to himself and smiled mirthlessly, that fateful night, he had oftentimes seen the little girl worrying about her marks and fretting over her papers.

It was a bitter reminder of the fact that she had been his student; still was, technically, till the results were through. He cursed the Board of Magical Education again.

Where were those blasted owls? He knew she would have secured top rank, but she didn't believe it. She had responded to the one time he had said it aloud out of frustration, with "you're just saying that to be nice," to which he had sneered and reminded her just how much of a bastard he really was.

He mentally snorted. Nice and him? Probably not, even if his life depended on it.

He mercilessly stomped that small voice that said that perhaps that was not true, into the ground of his mental graveyard.

He sat down beside her and told her as gently as he could, "it will be alright, Hermione, you'll know soon enough."

She only sobbed harder and threw her arms around his neck, wetting his shoulder-chest with warm tears. He tried not to sneeze at the sudden attack on his nostrils by bushy brown hair, and adjusted the awkward embrace to be more comfortable.

Gently smoothing her hair, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head, firmly ignoring the suicidal cry of his ever-so-sharp nature, and the triumphant whoop of the newly un-dead small voice, see previous murder of.

"There, there," he soothed not really knowing what else to say.

She mumbled something into his chest, and he smiled slightly; "Pardon? I don't speak Mumble very well."

To which she pinched his neck slightly.

"OW!"

"Git."

"Know-it-all."

"Berk."

"Woman," and then shortly, "OW! Stop pinching me!"

He could feel her smile against his shirt. It was worth it, he decided, to make a fool of himself once a while, if it was of course secret and never heard of outside the room.

"You think I would fail."

"Haven't I made it clear to you before?"

"But what if I do?"

He pulled back and she finally met his eyes; so brown, still misted over, scared, vulnerable...

He didn't remember even finishing that thought, seeing that his mind was currently occupied with exploring the taste of her lips and the hint of tea and lemon, and the scent of her hair, and how much he loved kissing her. This was gentle, and tender and passionate and he wanted to show her that he was there, no matter what...

He pulled back abruptly, and confused brown eyes met startled black ones. Where did that train of thought come from?

She met his gaze, kept it that way. At least the fear had faded, taken over by curiosity.

"Marry me, Hermione."

She looked stunned, and he supposed he did too. He had no idea where that came from either. It was really disturbing that his mind was plotting with his tongue against him. It was not fair, not one bit! He would have stomped a foot, had his company been naught but himself.

He refrained, but only just.

The stunned expression melted into one of anger and petulance. Oh, Oh.

He should really learn to shut up, or rather get his faculties under control, in future to prevent such suicidal moves, if he ever survived this one.

"I don't need you to make things all better! Not you, for pity!"

What? He did nothing as she got up to storm out. He sighed. This was becoming a habit.

And the disturbing part was, he wanted to stop her. "Where's your self respect man! Not a shred of dignity, have you?" his hysterical mind screamed as he automatically got up to catch her before she left and warded her Floo. Again.

The last time was lesson enough. Right nasty piece of work that curse was. Couldn't stop himself from uttering random words for nearly a day after.

She later (unjustly smug she was about it too) explained that it was a good lesson to be stuck with saying things you possibly regret, seeing that he had a habit of cutting with words.

He hadn't spoken to her for a week after that.

Here they were again.

"I'm not joking!" he said, surprised by his own vehemence, catching her arms and forcing her to look at him.

"Severus, I don't want you to do it to make me feel better. I know you want to tell me that in case I fail, this will somehow make it better bearable. This will not, in any case, do so."

"Hermione," he searched for words and let her go. At least she wasn't crying anymore.

"Severus..." she said, "I love you, and I have said it enough times, but..."

"You don't want to marry me. I get it," he let her go, suddenly cold and distant. Hermione felt lost.

"I want to."

"Now it is you who wishes to pity me?" he turned back to her and sneered his best one. "Be that as it may, I do not require your pity. You may leave if you wish." He spun on his heel and tried to leave before his emotions were given away.

He wanted to kill something; slowly and painfully.

Right now, it would have to be his non-bastard side. It was that which has made him see this ... this... humiliation.

No longer. Not anymore. Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me.

His haste was fuelled by his anger, which was quickly morphing into the feeling he had locked away so many years ago, behind stony eyes and expressionless face.

"Severus!"

He walked on. He passed a mirror, glancing to see his hair glowing, casting an eerie light on his face, twisted into a mask of self loathing.

He felt her behind him, and opened his mouth to tell her to stay away, for her own good.

She opened hers first; in a scream that jolted him out of his trance, and whipped him around in time to see her be thrown into the nearest wall, clutching her hand to her chest, face contorted with pain.

"Hermione," he said , once he was able to make sure he was in control. She looked up and for an instant he didn't recognise her.

Face twisted into a cynical smile that looked ugly on a face that was meant to only smile in kindness and joy, Hermione Granger looked at him with a deep look of pure and utter sorrow.

He had caused this, he thought, when he was too lost to notice that she was only trying to reach out to him.

In that moment, time was frozen, and the distance stretched between them, yawning like a widening rift. He knew that if he didn't move now, it would be too wide for him to cross again.

How did it come to this?

His feet carried him forward, and it saddened him that she visibly flinched, like the wounded animal would, when he kneeled in front of her.

"I'm..." he hesitated and looked away; it was hard enough to look at her.

He didn't have to finish that statement. "Don't" she said sharply, and brought her un-injured hand to touch his face. "That you're here, is enough," she smiled at him, and there was so much kindness in her touch and smile that Severus was afraid he would drown.

He nodded quietly and took her hand in his, singing softly while he traced his wand over the charred angry skin there.

She felt more than she saw the single drop of liquid that fell to the sensitive skin of her palm. She didn't say a word, but she couldn't help but touch the top of his bent head, leaving her fingers to just graze the fine strands. She felt him tense but only for half a moment, before the singing resumed.

The skin would be tender, but not for more than two days or so, judging by the amount of effort he had to put in to heal it. It was highly surprising, that he could still lose control, what was unsurprising was why he had lost it. He hadn't felt this strongly about losing someone in over eight years.

He had killed the last one himself.

He was broken from his reverie when he heard someone call his name. Bringing himself to the present, he watched the play of emotions on her fair flawless face.

"Marry me."

Severus was lost for words. And then it struck him as her apology for earlier. He had the opportunity to turn her down this time, he could sneer in her face, mock her girlish dreams, or he could just walk away without a word.

He could break her.

"If that's what you wish," he said instead, and watched as her face glowed like a spring morning sun. He couldn't help but smile in return, and try not to wince at the sudden force in her embrace.

He felt, at this moment, like he had wanted to feel all these years; the kind he came so close to with all his achievements, but never really reached the goal. He felt free, he felt cared for, and he felt not just like a pawn, or a rich benefactor or someone with power.

He felt happy.


End file.
